


My Mind Rebels (At Stagnation)

by awkward_tumbleweed



Series: That Is My Curse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Comic Book Science, Crossover, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Reincarnation, Relationship Negotiation, Sherlock Holmes (2009) - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_tumbleweed/pseuds/awkward_tumbleweed
Summary: During a fight with some low level sorcerers, Tony and Bucky gets thrown into a portal that lands them in late 1800's England, where Tony turns out to be Sherlock Holmes and Bucky doesn't know what the hell is going on.Meanwhile, Steve and the Avengers watch as Tony and Bucky navigate their way through a life no one knew Tony once lived.





	1. Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> It's been done before, these types of crossovers, but...I WANNA JOIN THE FUN, TOO, DANGNABBIT!! 
> 
> SO SIT TIGHT AND ENJOY THE RIDE KIDS!!
> 
> CUZ I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING...
> 
> AGAIN!!
> 
> ASFHFJGLSJFIALALEKWJFFEJAKALRKJSN

When Steve woke up that morning, fighting amateur sorcerers was the last thing on his mind.

Because the first thing on his mind was the warmth on his back, a familiar metal arm draped over his waist, puffs of breath on the back of his neck, and a delicious hardness nestled between his ass.

Yeah, fighting was the farthest thing on his mind.

Then, later on when they got back from their usual morning run and entered the kitchen for some breakfast where they found Tony pawing tiredly at the coffee machine, Steve knew fighting was the last thing on Bucky's mind as well.

With a shared smile, they approached their resident genius.

"Need some help there, doll?" Bucky asked quietly, knowing how pretty out of it Tony can be in the mornings.

Instead of a verbal answer, the shorter man let out a pitiful whine that had Steve wanting to pull him into a hug, and just cuddle him, dark, drooping eyes never once leaving the half-empty coffee pot. _Not yet_ , his mind told him. So, Steve gently pried the Stark mug from Tony's hands and said, "I'll get you some coffee, Tony. Why don't you sit at the table with Buck, huh?"

Over the genius' ridiculous bed hair, Bucky sent him a smirk and a wink as he coaxed Tony into following him to said table. For a moment, Steve watched the two men he loved with a face he knew looked dopey, but he couldn't help it. Now, if only Tony knew that he and Bucky loved him, everything would be perfect.

 _Soon_ , he thought, before turning back to the coffee machine and making good on bis promise to make Tony his coffee. Black, with three teaspoons of sugar. Steve knows that Tony has come up with many ways to make his coffee stronger and more caffeinated (his Nitro Coffee made Steve's eyes water), he also knew that from time-to-time, Tony enjoyed just a regular cup of joe.

"Here you go, Tony." Steve placed the mug before the genius, but the intelligent reply he got in return was nothing more than a drawn out groan, muffle by an impressive face-plant maneuver, and it all had to do with the way Bucky was massaging the base of his neck with the metal hand, Steve was sure of it.

When he gave Bucky a look, the other man simply gave an unapologetic shrug and continued with his ministrations, propping his chin on his free hand as his eyes went back to staring at their mechanic with a lovesick expression. Steve wouldn've laughed, but he knew he looked the same way. How Tony hadn't figured out that they were interested in him, Steve hadn't a faintest clue, but they didn't want to rush the guy. Especially with all the crap that used to be between them.

Sure, they dealt with the whole Civil War thing - he and Tony - through talks that escelated to arguments, screaming matches that opened flood gates of what they were really feeling, effectively bringing down walls Steve didn't even realize he had up. It was ugly. And all the while, Bucky was healing with the help of Tony's B.A.R.F. technology and Shuri's brilliant guidance. It was a very stressful and emotional few months after Tony sent him a text that simply read: Time to come home.

But they got over it, and now, a year later, he was with Bucky, his friendship with Tony fixed (not back to the way it was before, because even before they had never gotten this close), and he and Bucky were undeniably inlove with Tony Stark.

However, after a long talk with Bucky, they both agreed to take it slow with Tony.

That didn't stop them from being sweet on the man, though. Especially if an opportunity revealed itself. Like now.

So, of course, it was then that F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice rang out with the familiar words of, "Avengers, assemble. Urgent call from Doctor Strange in the Sanctum."

Bucky groaned and Tony's head popped up so fast _Steve_ felt the whiplash.

All traces of tiredness was gone from the billionaire's eyes as he stood up, grabbed his coffee and turned to briskly make his way to the elevator. "See you on the pad," he told them both as he stepped into the elevator.

Steve nodded and Bucky gave a lazy salute.

With another groan, Bucky stood up from his seat, and Steve gave his boyfriend a consoling pat on the back. 

Today was not going to be a flirt-with-Tony day.

So, fighting.

Steve was good at it. It was all he knew how to do properly, and after the serum, he's perfected it. However, no amount of fighting could've prepared him for what was about to happened.

One moment they were fighting a couple of amateur sorcerers in the New York Sanctum, doing their damnest to keep the damage to a minimum (it was a futile attempt, but at least they could say they tried), and the next, Bucky was shouting Tony's name and Steve could only watch from the ground as Tony sailed through the air, the arc reactor of the armor missing its blue glow headed straight for the ground, Bucky falling after him, a length of black chord in one hand that he had anchord to a railing, and the other - the metal arm - stretched out towards Iron Man. Just when it looked like things were about to get ugly, a portal opened beneath them, swallowing the two men, closed...and nothing.

Heart in his throat, Steve turned to look at Strange and Wong, but the sorcerers were staring at the spot where the portal had been with confused frowns.

_Not Strange._

"Oh, my god," a small voice whimpered. "We killed Iron Man and the Winter Soldier."

Steve spun on his heel to see that the amateur sorcerers had stopped fighting back, and were instead looking very, very terrified. 

**X**

Bucky...wasn't dead.

How did he know this? No fucking clue. But something in him said he wasn't dead, so who the hell was he to argue with that?

Floating.

Ah, yes, that's what the sensation is. Floating...but not in water. He couldn't feel any water. There was air though, but he couldn't see a damn thing, and he was pretty sure his eyes were open.

Then, as if sensing his complaint about his sight, things started to turn white and when he blinked against the sudden sharpness, he was suddenly staring down at bricks...rain drenched bricks. Rain drenched, time worn bricks and footsteps.

Fast approaching footsteps.

Suddenly, he felt a tug and the next thing he knew, a man was running past the bricks he had just been face-to-face with not even seconds ago, and was hovering (it was the only way he could explain it) after the man. In the darkness of the night and scarce lighting of torches (and isn't that curious, usually, New York was bursting with electric lights), Bucky could only make out the man's silhouette rushing down the cobblestone street (what streets in New York still used cobblestones, and had torches as light), past impressive buildings that had Bucky thinking he wasn't in New York anymore, performing some impressive parkour moves as he evaded everything obstructing his path before finally vaulting over a railing and landing on the other side with a roll.

Then, as if he had teleported, Bucky was right there in the man's face as he got up from his roll, dark hair pointing in every direction, eyes wide with adrenaline, chest heaving and everything screaming familiarity--

"Tony?" Bucky breathed.

**X**

"Explain," Steve ordered, arms crossed as he stood over the handcuffed, whimpering forms of the their villians for the day, eyes never leaving the portal Strange had opened after the amateur sorcerers had blabbered everything to the doctor.

Strange shared a look with Wong, then turned back to Steve and the rest of the Avengers standing next to him. "Has Stark ever told any of you about his reincarnations?"


	2. Discombobulate

Bucky still had no idea what the fuck was going on, but Tony, or at least the man who looked like he could be Tony's long lost twin (aside from the old styled clothing, long, unruly hair and stubbled face, everything else screamed Tony Stark), suddenly stood up from his crouch and spun on his heel to pull open a set of wooden side doors Bucky wasn't even aware had been there, and kicked down the metal gates immediately blocking the entrance.

Again, he was gently pulled forward when Tony (he's going to be Tony until Bucky could find out his name) stepped through the darkened room he had just revealed and came out on the other side at the top of some stairs. He looked over the metal railing before swiftly making his way down the steps and making a left at the landing. It lead into a short, poorly lit hall with two large doors pulled open. Tony was a silhouette as he stood in the doorway, and immediately spotted a bowler-hat wearing man with a lantern in hand, looking over the top of a spiral stair case, casting shadows of the fancy banister.

Tony nimbly ducked back into the safety of the hall's shadows behind on the doors, and Bucky's vision went blurry for a split second before everything around him went quiet; as if he had just been submerged into water...and that was when the creepy shit happened.

"Head cocked to the left, partial deafness in ear," a deep, baritoned voice said into the silence, and despite the accent, Bucky could tell it was Tony's...but Tony's lips weren't moving, and suddenly, he was seeing the profile of bowler-hat man squinting into the darkness around him as his lantern illuminated his ugly mug.

Then he was back to Tony, watching as the man took a deep breath. 

"First point of attack."

There was a flash, and it was as if someone had fast forwarded a movie and Bucky walked in on the most important part because the man was suddenly there with Tony, and Tony launched a hammer blow at the other man's ear with his right hand.

"Two. Throat. Paralyse vocal chords. Stop screaming."

The man's mouth opens as if to cry out, but Tony's left hand was suddenly striking his Adam's Apple with terrifying precision and strangled his would-be scream.

"Three. Got to be a heavy drinker. Floating rib to the liver."

In a smooth move, Tony bent at the waist and brought a knuckle-punch to his opponent's abdomen that had the man staggering in response. But Tony wasn't done yet. He want down even further, landing to a crouch as he took hold of the man's left calf, and and prepared to swing another blow.

"Fourth. Finally, drag the left leg. Fist the patella."

With that, said fist met the side of the man's knee, and as he began to fall, Tony's voice continued, "Summart prognosis: Conscious ninety seconds. Martial efficacy: quarter of an hour at best. Full faculty of recovery, unlikely."

And just like that, Bucky was snapped out of the quiet as if out of a trance, and Tony was back in his shadowed corner and bowler-hat man was getting closer. Just as he ronded the corner, Tony pulled up his coat to hide his face then...then it happened so fast Bucky was barely able to keep up. The next thing he knew was the man was falling back and in a swift move, Tony took the bowler-hat and lantern before booking it down the spiral stair case.

Bucky didn't even have time to think, _What the fuck?_ because he was following Tony once again as the other man proceeds down the spiral stair case.

**X**

"What do you mean, reincarnation?" Steve raised a sceptical brow at Strange when the portal showed a young woman dressed in white moving about on an altar of sorts, inside a crudely-painted pentacle, toes pointed down and hands over her chest, eyes white as they had rolled up. 

At her head, a hooded figure stood over her with arms stretched out on an elevated platform speaking in a low mumble. Four torchère were alive with dancing flames, parallel to the altar's four points sourrounding them and providing the underground room with a muted orange glow.

It became obvious that the hooded figure was a man as his voice carried out, and he continued speaking in a language that Steve thought sounded a lot like Latin. But he couldn't be sure.

What he was sure of, however, was that he --and the rest of the Avengers-- just saw Tony take down a man in less than five seconds flat after doing some sort of mind-future-reading thing with no Bucky in sight.

He was grateful that their agents had taken away the amature sorcerers, or Steve would've pummeled them by now.

"I mean," Strange sighed just as the scene changed, and they see Tony on the second floor balcony, sticking to the shadows as he watched the scene below him, eyes alive with intelligence and taking everything in just as another hooded figure revealed itself. "That Stark appears to have the ability to reincarnate, and those _sorcerers_ accidentally sent him and Barnes back into one of his past lives. They were hoping to make a portal to possibly save your teammates from their fall, but misused a spell instead."

"So if this is Tony's past life," Nat interjected, speaking for the first time since the whole situation started, then pointed her chin to Tony's image, "who is this supposed to be?"

Before the Sorcerer Supreme could answer, a figure came out of the shadows behind Tony and placed a hand on his shoulder. Tony was quick to respond, knocking the man's hand away and fully prepared to take him down, when another man (the one they saw in the carriage earlier with the policemen) subdued Tony's attacker from behind, putting him into a chokehold as Tony raised a hand to pinch their temporary prisoner's nose and use his knuckels to cover his mouth.

The man grappled at their hold, jerking as his face went red, but neither of them budged. Instead, Tony's companion whispered over the man's head, "I like the hat."

For the first time, they hear Tony actually speak (and not just whatever he did in his head earlier) as he answered just as quietly, "I just picked it up."

"You remember your revolver?"

Eyes never leaving a spot they couldn't see, Tony grunted, "Oh, knew I forgot something. I thought I left the stove on."

"You did," the other man replied without missing a beat.

There was a dull thud as their captive suddenly went limp, arms dropping and eyes rolling close. Tony was the first to notice as his companion continued to keep his hold.

"I think that's quite enough," Tony tells him.

When the man looked at him, then checked the neck for a pulse, Tony continued, "You're a doctor, after all."

Satisfied with his find, they let the unconscious man fall to the ground as they stood back up and Tony's companion straightened his coat before holding a hand out to Tony.

Tony shook it and looked up into his face as he said, "Always nice to see you, Watson."

"No way," Bruce comments on a breath, and when Steve looked at him, the doctor had a wide-eyed look on his face.

"It makes sense," Natasha adds.

Steve wanted to ask what they obviously realized, but the Tony and "Watson" both took their hats off and surveyed the floor below them once more as Tony asks, "Where is the inspector?"

Watson was taking his coat off when he replied, "He's getting his troops lined up."

Tony let out a non-committal sound, a cane suddenly appearing in his hand, holding it out to Watson who straightened his necktie. When he took the cane, Tony stepped over the body at their feet and said, "That could be all day."

Stealth was abandoned as the two hurried down another flight of stone stairs and Tony appeared out of the shadows behind two men, obviously there to guard whatever ritual was going on, using their lack of awareness to attack the first man, covering the thug's face with his stolen bowler-hat and driving his elbow into the man's jaw, and knocking him out.

His partner notices the movement but was unprepared for Tony's next blow.

Watson didn't even try to hide as he came out of a corner and right into another pair of guard's line of sight, licking his lips in anticipation of a fight.

The first man raised a club and delivered a strike, but Watson blocked the hit with an arm then used his cane to hit the other guard before shoving them both to the ground. He swung a kick to the second guard's stomach, unaware of the first one getting up and raising a fist to his face. There was contact and Watson was whipped back by the blow.

The hooded man at the altar continued his speaking despite the fight going on, but tilted his head in a minute movement toward the other hooded figure, who quickly turned on their heel and left with no one none the wiser.

The man at the altar focused back on his ritual, beady eyes barely visable under his hood as he watched the woman whimper and moan, one hand uncurling from her chest and reaching for the blade placed conveniently next to her.

Tony was still fighting off the other guard, successfully delivering a punch to the man's gut and fully intent on twisting his arm, when another guard came up and brought a baton down aiming for Tony's hand but ended up hitting his fellow guard instead when Tony ducked back just in time and sent another hit to the back of his neck with the baton he had taken.

His previous opponent fell with a cry and Tony wasted no time in engaging his new opponent, baton aimed at the man's head who brought an arm up to block the blow and swinging his own baton at Tony. Unfortunately for him, Tony caught it before any damage could be dealt.

Watson was grappling the the man who swung at him when the first one he managed to knock down sat up, wrapped an arm around his leg and bit down on the back of his calf.

Understandably, Watson let out a pained shout.

"Hey, that's cheating!" Clint cried out, despite knowing no one would really benefit from it.

Over the shoulder of the man he was trying to disarm, Tony saw another guard stalking his way, pistol held up and aiming at his head. With a squeeze of the trigger, the bullet flew, and Tony and his opponent both jerked back as the shot hit the pillar next to them, just above their heads.

Watson automatically ducked, eyes seeking out the gunner as everything around them ringed.

Tony made quick work of his opponent and with a twist disarmed the man of his baton hit his on the sideof his head, and twisted him around to use him as a human shield when the gunner shot off another round, this time the bullet lodging in the man's shoulder. He jerked in Tony's hold as the gunner got closer, weapon coming too close to Tony's face for Steve liking, when Tony shoved the man to the gunner and hit the pistol away from the other man's hand with a strike of his new baton.

From there, everything else happened quickly as Watson kneed the guard he was grappling, swung his cane at the other who bit him and Tony relieved the gunner of the baton he had pulled out, in the absence of his pistol, hit the shot man (who was still miraculously fighting) across the face, rendering him unconscious, and Watson hitting the man who bit him between the legs with his cane when he stood back up, and finally knocked him out with a left hook.

On the altar, the woman continued to writhe, sweat making her skin glisten as her fingers curled around the hilt of the blade, and Tony spun the batons around in his hands, the move reminiscent of Natasha's technique, and from above his shoulder, brought them down with a loud thwack on the remaining man's own shoulders. Tony finished the move by shoving the man unto the ground with the end of one of his batons, breathing heavily.

Chest heaving from his own fight, Watson checked on Tony first, then brought a revolver from his waist band and Tony looked up to the altar. The woman was raising the blade, and Watson spotted one of the thugs coming back to conciousness. He quickly dealt with it with his cane before aiming at the hooded figure with his gun.

Just as the woman was about to bring down the blade on her own chest, Tony was there to stop her, hand wrapping around her arm and prying the dagger from her dead-man's grip with his other hand. A strong and loud gust of wind suddenly swept into the room causing the flames on the torchère to go out, and making Watson squint.

The wind disappeared as quickly as it came, its aftereffects carrying the hooded man's robes out in a flare, before they settled back down. Tony, who had successfully disarmed the young woman, turned to the man, taking hold of his batons which he had tucked under and arm and held one out in defense.

In the dimness of the room, the hood turned to face him as well, and after a second, his voice rasped, "Sherlock Holmes."

Steve inhaled sharply, the pieces (the few that he had, anyway) finally starting to fall into place.

**X**

Bucky could feel his eyes widen in shock, body going rigid at the name. 

Unaware of his presence (Bucky figured he must be some kind of ghost in the moment), the figure continued with a slight turn in Watson's direction where he was standing behind him, "And his loyal dog." Watson kept his gun trained on the man. "Tell me, doctor, as a medical man, have you enjoyed my work?"

His words had their intended effect as Watson answered, "Let me show you how much I've enjoyed it."

And with that, the doctor was stalking towards their culprit, cane coming up to strike the man, when Tony moved to intercept him. "Watson! Don't!"

Tony caught his friend when the hooded man turned around, hands clasped in front of him as if he was about to pray. However, upon closer inspection, it became clear that between his hands was a long, and perfectly camouflaged pointed piece of glass that was merely inches away from Watson's face.

"Observe," Tony, Sherlock, whoever the fuck he was, tells him.

Watson did as told, finally seeing it, and was obviously rattled when he asked, "How did you see that?"

"Because I was looking for it," Sherlock replies, then with his batons, crushes the glass weapon.

Watson raised his gun once again and pointed it at the man as Sherlock uses a baton to shove the hood back, reavealing the man's face; a long hawkish nose on an angular face, thin lips pursed together, and jet black hair slicked back to reveal a receeding hairline.

His eyes flickered up to Sherlock as Watson said, "Lord Blackwood."

Lord Blackwood looked to Watson. "You seemed surprised."

"I'd say that the girl deserves your attention more than he," Tony says to his friend, breifly giving Watson a meaningful look.

Watson took a moment before he lowered his gun. "Indeed." He took a step forward, then with a flick of his wrist, brought his cane across Blackwood's face that had the man listing to the side.

Bucky couldn't help but smile when Sherlock simply looked proud of his friend's actions, giving his batons one last twist so they tucked snuggly under each of his arms just as several footsteps came rushing into the room with them.

The man in the lead, wearing all black pointed a gun at the head of another thug coming back into conciousness who was reaching for the discarded gun. "Oh, I'd leave that alone if I were you, boyo."

When the thug twisted on his stomach to look up at the man, he raised his hands as best he could. Others came to surround him with rifles. 

"Good lad," the lead man nodded.

Bucky wondered if this was Lestrade, the Scotland Yard inspector that he had read about back in his youth. He resisted the urge to fangirl because he was still in a sitaution he had no idea how to handle.

With a single kick to the face, the man sent the thug back into the land of unconscious just as Sherlock called out, "Impeccable timing, Lestrade." He waited for the officers to take in who their culprit is and continued, "We've one for the doctor, and one for the rope."

Still wide-eyed, Lestrade said, "Clarky?"

The officer to his left holding a pistol, nodded. "Sir."

"This woman needs a hospital immediately," Watson calls out from where he was checking said woman's vitals.

"Put her in the back of the maria," Lestrade commands, and two officers quickly responded as Clarky walked up to Blackwood.

The man held his wrists out for the officer to cuff, and Clarky made quick work of doing just that. Watson watched as the two officers lifted the woman and carried her out, placing a hand under her head when they lifted her.

With the cuffs on, Clarky made a move to take hold of them when Blackwood snatched his hands away, prompting Clarky to step back at the sudden movement. However, instead of escaping like Bucky had thought, Blackwood simply gave the officer a haughty look. "If you don't mind."

Watson glared at the back of his head as he took a step forward and stopped in front of Lestrade.

Standing next to Lestrade, Sherlock watched Blackwood as the inspector said, "Get him out of my sight."

Blackwood looked back to Clarky who didn't move from his spot just over his shoulder, then began to walk away. With their culprit caught, Lestrade turned to Sherlock with a disapproving frown. "And you were supposed to wait for my orders."

Looking away from where Blackwood disappeared, Sherlock said, "If I had, you'd be cleaning up a corpse and chasing a rumor." He walked around the inspector and came to a stop on his other side. "Besides, the girl's parents hired me, not the Yard. Why they thought you'd require any assistance is beyond me."

 _Of course,_ Bucky thinks to himself, inwardly sighing. _Why did I think you'd be any different. Don't taunt the authorities, idiot._

Surprisingly, Lestrade didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he said, "Well, London will breathe a sigh of relief."

"Indeed," Watson agrees, still on the altar platform. "Congratulations, Lestrade."

Sherlock reached into his coats pocket and pulled out a cigar. "Bravo, Inspector," he handed the cigar to Lestrade. "Have a cigar."

As Lestrade took it between his fingers, a new voice joined in, prompting the three to turn in its direction. "Gentlemen."

A police photgrapher stood there with his massive camera mounted on a shaky tripod, then took the protective cover off the lense and said, "Cheese!"

With a twist of his lips, Sherlock raised a baton wielding hand up to his face, effectively hiding himself from the camera just as the shutter clicked at there was a bright flash that had Bucky screwing his eyes shut.

**X**

"Somebody call Rhodes," Steve says to no one in particular as the portal went white with the flash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over two hours...OVER TWO FRIGGIN HOURS DID I WORK ON THIS CHAPTER AND WE'RE ONLY FIVE MINUTES INTO THE MOVIE!!
> 
> AAAHHHHH!!
> 
> Lol!! This is gonna be a long ride, kids.
> 
> P.S. unedited, so feel free to point out any typos!!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!!


	3. You Wear a Jacket

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

Bucky jolted, eyes that he did not know had closed snapped open. There was a muffled exclamation of, "good god!" but Bucky couldn't see anyone. Hell, he couldn't see much of anything, really. The...room, he supposed, was dark, but not too dark that he can't make out the chaotic mess all around and the figure hunched low in a chair, pistol in hand pointed to a wall.

From what he could make out of the weapon, there was some sort of contraption at the end of its barrel and for some strange reason, he thinks, _That's something Tony would totally do._ Then he remembers everything. Tony, Sherlock Holmes...shit.

There was more muffled speaking coming from somewhere, but Bucky couldn't really be bothered to worry about it, not when he realizes he could feel solid ground under the soles of his combat boots.

_BANG._

Instinctively, Bucky ducked, dropping into a crouch as he reached for the knife strapped to his thigh, only to grasp at thin air. With a frown, he squinted down at his leg and found that not only was his knife not there, so was it's sheath. In fact, now that he can somewhat make out his own form in the dim lighting, he can see that he was actually missing all of his weaponry.

When the hell did that happen? Not even Nat could disarm him in his sleep.

Two quick raps against a wooden surface brought Bucky back to the situation at hand. Ah, right. He was in a room with an armed individual. Surprisingly, he didn't feel the familiar prickling of tense anticipation at the base of his neck. Instead, there was a sort of steady calm thrumming through him, despite the scare he got from the gunshots. He peered at the weapon again. The sound should have been louder for such an old revolver, but only by a margin.

A door he didn't know existed opened only to stop short when it hit the back of the chair the weapon's weilder sat in. Bucky was relieved to see the familiar face of Doctor Watson as the man slotted himself through the opening he managed to make. 

He took one look at the revolver, now being cocked back, and sighed. "Permission to enter the armory."

Bucky thinks he should be panicked that Watson would see him, but then the shadowed figure spoke. "Granted."

_BANG._

The bullet joined the others on the wall, and Bucky squinted at the shape they have been placed in. What did VR stand for? He didn't get to even speculate for an answer, because Tony was speaking in that deep, accented voice of his saying something about supressing the sound of gunshot and Watson was coming towards Bucky, pace brisk, face set in a stony frown, and Bucky thinks it's time to come up with an explanation.

Except...except he doesn't because Watson _passed through him!_ Bucky only gets to panic a little when light suddenly flooded the room, revealing the full extent of chaos it was in, and Tony let out a pained cry. Bucky agrees with a flinch of his own.

"It's not working," Watson replied, limping (has he always been like that?) back through Bucky and towards Tony (Holmes, fuck), tucking a folded newspaper under his arm as he reaches a hand out. "Can I see that?"

Still letting out verbal noises of agony, Holmes (because this isn't Tony) hands the gun over which Watson makes sure is safe to hold before setting it down on a cluttered table and shuffling through the papers there. He chooses several letters and makes his way to the fireplace.

"You know it's been three months, since your last case?" The doctor inquired loudly over a whistling noise Bucky didn't realize was getting higher and higher, before the other man nudges a pot away from the fire with his foot. The wistling died down and Watson picks up a glass from another table, this one smaller and set strategically between a settee set by the fireplace, sniffing at its contents then throwing it at the small flame and effectively snuffing it out. He placed the glass back on the table with a resounding thud. 

Bucky watched in amusement as Holmes covers his eyes with a hand, shoulders hunching even further when Watson makes his way over to the other side of the room and reached for the curtains of a window there.

"Gently. Gently, Watson," Holmes pleads rather pathetically. "Be gentle with me."

When Watson doesn't even pause to fling the curtain aside and let the bright sun shine through as his friend let's out yet another cry of pain before dropping to the floor accompanied by some glassware smashing to bits, Bucky decides that the good doctor is a little shit.

Grimacing at the room, Watson looks down to the letters he had picked up. "Don't you think it's time to find another one?"

The way Holmes crawled towards his partner on all fours, hair askew and eyes just a tad manic, Bucky would've thought it was Tony coming out of one of his inventing binges. "I can't but agree," he rasped, limbs unsteady as he continued to crawl across the floor. "My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work. The sooner the better."

Bucky follows after the man, now that he know they can't see him, he doesn't have to worry about stealth. Choosing instead, to enjoy whatever the hell is going on. Clearly, this has something to do with Tony, weather it's a dream or some sort of hallucination, and he wanted to find out why. If he was in any form of danger, he knew Steve and the rest are doing their damnest to get him out.

Watson untucks the newspaper from his arm, and holds it down towards Holmes when the detective finally reaches him. "Paper."

Holmes takes it and sits himself down on the floor next to a chair which Watson occupies with a groaned, "Let's see then."

Bucky steps around a cluttered ottoman (he's sensing a pattern here) and drops down to his hunches so he could see the newspaper's front page as Holmes flicks it open. _**Blackwoood Hangs Tomorrow,**_ the headline reads under the date November 13, 1890. There were pictures, but the most prominent one was of Blackwood's ugly mug, and Watson with Holmes, the doctor's face on display but Holmes' covered by his arm and batons. 

"There's a letter here," Watson continues, "from...Mrs. Ramsay, of Queenspark. Her husband's disappeared."

Without missing a beat, Holmes interupts, "He's in Belgium with the scullery maid."

Bucky pauses in his reading, angling his head to see Sherlock's expression. It was of mild disinterest. From his peripheral, he sees Watson give the man a look.

Holmes continues, as if he hadn't just solved a case within a second of hearing it, "Is it November?"

Watson's deafeated sigh told Bucky the man was so done with the eccentric detective's ways. "Yes, Holmes."

A distracted frown twisted at said eccentric detective's face as his gaze flickers over the top of the newspaper and off to the side, appearing offended that time had dared pass him by.

Of course, Watson continued on. "Alright. Lady Radford reports...oh, her emerald bracelet has disappeared."

"Insurance swindle," Holmes interupted again just as easily as he did the first time, attention back on the newspaper. "Lord Radford likes fast women and slow ponies. Oh." Bucky looks down to where Holmes was looking. "I see you're the attending physician at Blackwood's hanging."

"Yes," Watson confirms with a tight smile. "It was out last case together and i wanted to see it through to the end."

Holmes tensed, and Bucky raised a brow up at the doctor even though the other man can't see him. There was an awkward pause, and Bucky saw the moment Watson realized the mistakes of his words. He clears his throat a bit uneasily the same time there was a soft knock on the door. It opened to reveal an old lady with paling hair, dressed in a modest, dark dress and carrying a tray of what looks to be some munchables, and a ceramic tea set. Her eyes swept around the room as she stops, taking in the two men, and Holmes folded back the newspaper.

"A Mr. Louis," Watson goes to say, but Holmes speaks over him, watching the newcomer.

"There's only one case that intigues me at present."

Watson looks up from the letters as well.

"The Curious Case of Mrs. Hudson." The woman gave Holmes an exasperated look, sighing as the man continues on, "The absentee landly. I've been studying her comings and goings. They appear most...sinister."

Bucky couldn't help but huff out a laugh. He's seeing more and more of Tony in this Holmes with each passing second.

"Tea, Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson inquires pleasantly, though her face said she wanted to be anything but.

Watson stands up from the chair as Holmes asks, "Is it poisoned, Nanny?"

Mrs. Hudson makes her way towards them. "There's enough of that in you already," she tells Holmes, making a move to set the tray down on the ottoman.

"Don't touch!" Holmes warned, watching the woman pick up another tray - this one empty. "Everything is in it's proper place. As per usual...Nanny."

The ease with which Mrs. Hudson ignores the man and retraces her steps back to the door told Bucky she's been dealing with Holmes for a long time now. She only barely paused when something catches her eye on the way out and said, "Oh, he's killed the dog...again."

Dog?

Bucky stands to see where she indicated as Watson walks over to the immobile animal. "What have you done to Gladstone now?"

"I was simply testing a new anesthetic," Holmes answered, standing up as well with a devil-may-care look while Watson kneels down to check on his pet. "He doesn't mind."

After checking the dog's pulse, Watson sighs and uses one of the many tables around to help him stand back up. "Holmes." The way he said the name reminded Bucky of all the time Steve has had it up till here with Bucky's antics. "As your doctor."

"He'll be straight as a trivet in no time."

"As your friend!" Watson closed his eyes with the declaration, a hand fisted as if to ground himself and not throw it at his friend. The combination of the words and actions was obviously enough to stop Holmes, for the times being at least, from interrupting him again.

Instead, the other man turned around to lower himself into another chair, this one by another (surprise!) cluttered desk. Bucky decided to plunk himself into the seat Watson was in.

Watson plowed on with a fortifying breath. "You've been in this room for two weeks. I insist, you have to get out!"

Leaning back and crossing his legs, Holmes replies, "There is nothing of interest, for me, out there on Earth. At all."

Bucky worried the doctor might bust a nerve in his neck when he clenched his jaw with another deep breath, and looked up to the ceiling as if searching for answers, hands going into his pant's pockets. He nodded to himself and rocked back a bit on his heels. "So you're free this evening?"

"Absolutely," Holmes said it as if his friend should have already known that, which Bucky thinks, Watson should.

"Dinner?"

"Wonderful."

"The Royal?"

"My favorite."

Watson smiled with a quick look down at his shoes. "Mary's coming."

That didn't get a quick response as the others did and the doctor was already near the door when Holmes said, "Not available."

Watson stopped. "You're meeting her, Holmes!"

Bucky thinks he shouldn't find the way Sherlock's face had filled with horror at the mention of the woman's name, or the way he was obviously avoiding his friend's stare by pretending to reach towards the desk for something. Then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder and raised both his brows. "Have you proposed yet?"

Bucky's gaze flickered back to Watson who didn't look so upset anymore. He pursed his lips a bit, instead, and said, "No, I haven't found the right ring."

"Well, then it's not official."

It was Bucky's turn to frown this time, wondering what Holmes had against the woman Watson obviously wants to marry.

Watson sent the detective a dry look. "It's happening, whether you like it or not. Eight-thirty the Royal. Wear a jacket!"

And with that, the doctor leaves the room, slamming the door to Holmes' childish, "You wear a jacket."

Bucky drummed the fingers of his metal hand against the armrest of the chair as silence filled the room. A few seconds went by just like that, with Holmes remaining in his seat and giving no indication of moving, until:

"Who are you?"

It would be the biggest lie of the century if Bucky said he didn't flinch, because Holmes was suddenly looking straight at him over the back of his chair, a brow raised in question. "I don't believe in ghosts, or magic, or any of that, so you must be a figment of my imagination. Only...I don't remember making you up. So, who are you?"

Bucky floundered, mouth working but no words coming out, still shocked from being acknowledged. Alright, so he's not completely as invisible as he thought. He cleared his throat. "Bucky...my name's Bucky."

"Bucky?" The inquiring brow was joined by the other, before drawing down into a frown. "What kind of name is Bucky?"

He honest didn't know what to say to that, not that he could if he wanted. Holmes continued to say his name, repeating it as his frown turned distracted and he was staring at Bucky's metal arm. He looked down to the appendage as well, wondering if it was doing anything unusual save for being metal. Nope, nothing was happening there.

"Bucky!"

That had his head snapping back to Holmes, eyes wide because that...that wasn't Holmes' voice. That was Tony's. And it was Tony who was staring at him now, his own eyes mirroring Bucky's as he looked around the room then down to himself, then back to Bucky with a look of reluctant acceptance.

"Aw, hell."

**X**

"Yes, I know about Tony's reincarnations," Rhodes sighed as soon as he lowers himself into a seat in Strange's library.

The team had relocated from the Sanctum's foyer.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Why did Tony never tell us?"

Rhodes lifted a shoulder and shook his head. "I don't know, Cap. The only reason I found out was because of a drunken night of stress back in MIT. It sounded like complete utter bullshit, something you'd expect to hear from a drunk, but if I learned anything from taking care of that scrawny kid, is that a drunk Tony, is an honest Tony. He told me he couldn't remember what happened during his past lives, only the names. I never brought it up after that, and I'm pretty sure Tony doesn't know I know."

A few seconds of silence followed, before Nat leans forward, resting her folded arms on the table as she stares at the portal showing Tony explain to Bucky what was going on.

Steve was relieved to see his boyfriend.

"How do we get them back?" Nat asked, aiming the question at the two sorcerers with them.

Strange's face remained impassive as he answered, "We don't."

"What?" Steve quickly uncrossed his arms, turning to fully face the man. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever magic was used for this is strong, and old. Very old," Strange explains, gesturing to the portal-turned-screen. "The spell used for this is something of a truth serum, specifically to reveal things. What things is up to the one the spell is cast on. I'm guessing because Tony went through first his is the truth we are seeing. The spell will run its course until it has revealed everything it deems necessary. We get them back, after that."

Steve didn't like it, and from the way everyone else on his team was shifting around, neither did they. But, Strange was the expert when it came to these things, so they'll have to trust that he knows what he's doing.

"Alright," he sighed, sinking down into a chair next to Nat. She reahed over and squeezed his shoulder. He gave her a grateful smile, and turned back to watch the two men he loved the most in the world, suddenly weary. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that took longer than expected. I'M SO SORRY!!! I APOLOGIZE FOR THE WAIT AND SHORT-ISH CHAPTER!! I'LL TRY TO UPDATE FASTER NEXT TIME <3
> 
> P.S. unedited (as per usual)


	4. Rocky Road to Dublin

"So, to recap," Bucky begins a few minutes after Tony finished his explaination, "you've always been like this, reincarnating and shit, and one of your lives has been of Sherlock Holmes? Legendary detective that people started thinking was a myth because no one had photographic evidence? That Sherlock Holmes?"

Twisting his lips to the side in a small, almost self-deprecating smile, Tony shrugged and held his hands out around the room as if to say, _Pretty much._

And, okay, yeah, Bucky could see that. There's really not much else to explain when he's got physical evidence right before his eyes. Unless someone's messing with his head again, and in that case, bodies will drop when he gets out.

There is one more thing that's nagging at Bucky though. "Why haven't you told us?"

He expected Tony to get defensive, to see the walls slam up in his expression like they always do when someone asks the genius a personal question that he really, really doesn't want to answer (unsurprisingly, there's a lot of those). However, none of those things happened. Instead, Tony appeared almost confused, as if he's never really thought about it.

The other man finally shrugged, a small pouting frown tugging down at his lips as his fingers toyed with the fabric of his sleeves. "Honestly, it has never crossed my mind to tell anyone. It's a secret that I've had for so, so long that it's become irrelevant to the life I'm living. So I die, and I live again, but I don't know when or where and I don't start remembering that I can until I'm in my early teens." He looked back up to Bucky then, and gave him an almost shy smile. "Believe you me when I say how freaked I was when it first happened. I can't remember now who I was, or what my life had been, but the confusion was so strong it stuck with me through all my lives. I'm pretty sure I ended up killed because of how crazy I sounded, but I could be wrong."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks, frowning his own confusion.

Tony taps at his temple with an amused quirk of his lips. "This has always been unreliable when it comes to memories of my past lives. As years go by, I'm remembering less and less. Right now, I'm at a point that I can only remember my name from the previous life before the one I'm currently living. As soon as I die as Tony Stark, I won't remember Sherlock Holmes. I'm ninety-six point two percent sure there was a time in my lives that I remembered every deatail, though. But now, well, only very strong emotions that I've felt stick with me."

"Wow..." Bucky breathed, because there's really nothing else to say.

"I know, it's a lot," Tony admits with a wry smile. "But, if it makes you feel any better, not even my Rhodey Bear knows."

Bucky huffed a laugh as he scrubbed a hand down his face. "Oh, I figured as much. It's just...I've seen impossible things happen, hell, I'm a living embodiment of impossible, but this...well, this I wouldn't even had thought of. Reincarnations, huh?"

This time, Tony's grin was almost carefree. "I know. It's pretty cool, isn't it?" Then he turned serious. "How do you think we got here, though?"

"My guess is those sorcerers we were fighting," Bucky shrugged. "All I remember is trying to catch you before you fell, then I woke up like this."

"Ugh, magic," Tony shuddered. "I got hit by something, and it powered down the suit. I hate it. As soon as we get back, I'm going to make sure nothing magical can ever affect the suit, ever. What?"

Bucky was snickering, but for good reasons. "Your dislike for magic is a bit of a weird, don't you think? I mean, since you reincarnate and all."

"Now look here, Buckaroo," Tony starts, looking as if he was gearing up for a long lecture which only served to send Bucky into a laughing spree. "No! Stop! This is no laughing matter! Reincarnating is not proven to be of magica origins, so don't spout that nonsense in my presence ever again, or the next upgrade I'm asking Shuri to put in your arm is one that would make it slap you upside the head if you even so much as breathe the word magic!"

**X**

"It's...complicated, at best," Strange sighs when all eyes turn to him and Wong in silent query.

"Man, don't let Tony hear that," Rhodes warns, and Steve silently agrees.

**X**

Bucky decided he didn't like the Royale, it was loud, had too many week spots, and Tony was seating a table that could easily be spotted from afar with a good sniper's perch.

Tony's words from before they left Baker's Street came to mind.

_"I may not remember what happens next here, Buck, but I'm sure no one's out to kill me...yet." He has adopted his English accent again. "It's actually slowly coming back to me right now. I must be getting my memories back because we're here now. In any case, I'm perfectly safe, Mr. Barnes."_

Bucky hadn't been able to say anything to that as the door to the room opened to reveal a frowning Mrs. Hudson who asked if there was someone with Holmes as she's been hearing him talk all afternoon. Tony replied with a witty remark about knowing ones enemies (he wasn't really paying attention at that point) and asked if the carriage had arrived yet.

Mrs. Hudson confirmed that it was waiting outside, and they were off to the Royale.

So, here they were with Tony sitting at a table alone, and Bucky blending into the shadows of a corner that gave him a good vantage view of the whole room (not that anyone else can see him, but, old habits die hard).

Suddenly, his vision starts to swim and the classical music playing in the background starts to slowly fade. Bucky tries to move towards Tony but his body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, it's as if his eyesight (which was damn good already thanks to Hydra's knockoff serum) sharpened and zeroed in on Tony who flipped open a pocket watch, glanced down at it, then up and Bucky became aware of the couple sitting a table away from Tony, the man arguing about something with his female companion. Tony's gaze flickered to a waiter, and Bucky's focus followed as well, watching as the man polished a silver spoon before taking a quick look around the room and stuffing it inside his jacket's pocket. The sound of utensils clinking against ceramic plates didn't drown out the voice of another waiter telling his colleague to fix his tie, and Bucky felt his stomach twist with a sudden wave of unexpected nausea when everything became louder at an alarming speed - he could even hear the ticking of Tony's pocket watch amidst the laughing, the talking, the music and oh, god, he wants to cover his ears-

"Holmes."

"Hm."

And just like that, eveything went back to normal. Bucky looked down to his hands to find them relaxed at his sides and feeling just a bit disoriented. Alright, that was definitely weird. 

"You're early." 

That was when Bucky realized that Dr. Watson had arrived with a pretty blonde woman on his arm. He's not even going to question how he can hear them perfectly despite the space between him and them. At this point, he's just going to roll with everything.

Tony, or rather in this moment, Holmes took a second the study his friend and the newcomer, then gives them both a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fashionably," he replies to the doctor's words before snapping his pocket watch shut and tucking it away.

Why does Bucky actually have a bad feeling about this?

"Miss Mary Morsten," Watson introduces the woman, turning to pull out her chair as he does so.

Sherlock (because Tony was very much Sherlock Holmes in this moment) stands to take her hand. "Oh, my goodness. What a pleasure," he begins, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. "For the life of me, I don't know why it's taken him so long to introduce us properly."

Bucky couldn't help but match Sherlock's shit-eating grin that the other man sends to the good doctor. He supposes reincarnating has no effect over Tony's personality.

"The pleasure is mine," Miss Morsten replies with a smile as she sits down, her dress rustling with the action.

Sherlock and Watson follows suit and Bucky can sympathize with Watson's obvious wariness. It's never really a good sign when Tony goes along with something without the further need of coaxing. _Don't do anything stupid,_ Bucky tries to telepathicly relay as the two men shared a quick look.

"It really is quite a thrill to meet you, Mr. Holmes," the woman continues, seemingly genuine. "I've heard so much about you."

Ah, Watson is gone on the woman if Bucky were to go by the sudden smile, despite being small, the man was sporting as his intended continued on.

"I have a pile of detective novels at home...Collins, Poe."

"It's true," Watson confirms.

Then, Bucky catches the first sign of trouble when Sherlock glances over the woman's shoulders and keeps his gaze there, the action appearing as nothing more than harmless, as she resumes her train of thought. But Bucky knew better. He was prepapring for his attack. Oh, boy. "It can seem a little far fetched though, at times. Making these grand assumptions out of tiny details."

"That's not quite right, is it?" Sherlock cuts in, gaze now on the ceiling. Bucky groaned. She walked right into that one. "In fact, the little details are by far, the most important."

His eyes finally settle back on her, and Miss Morsten concedes to Sherlock's point with a slightly flustered smile and a dainty nod to the detective seated at her right side. Across from her, Watson shifts a bit, attempting to give the woman an encouraging smile as he clearly realizes the sudden shift in Sherlock's mood.

Sherlock got a contemplating look on his face, then turned to his friend as he said, "Take Watson-"

"I intend to," Miss Morsten interrupts, and Sherlock obviously wasn't expecting her to by the way he let out a short surprised huff of laughter.

There was an awkward millisecond where the couple shared a lovesick smile. Sherlock recovered. "See his walking stick?" he questions, taking hold of said walking stick. Watson kept a stern eye on Sherlock as the detective continued, "A rare African snake wood. Hiding a blade of-"

Bucky raised a brow when Sherlock gave the handle a tug to reveal glinting steel. He's not surprised though, the doctor was a military man, and it would seem neither is Miss Morsten when Sherlock turns back to her over his shoulder.

"-high tensile steel."

Miss Morsten's smile turned coy and Sherlock focused back on his friend. "Few were rewarded to the veterans of the Afghan war, so I can assume, he's a decorated soldier."

Watson shifts uneasily in his seat once again.

"Strong, brave, born to be a man of action," Sherlock lists off in rapid succession, "and neat, like all military men. Now, I check his pockets." The doctor bearly had time to react when Sherlock did just as said, pulling out a piece of paper. "Ah, a stub from a boxing match. Now, I can infer he's a bit of a gambler." At this point, he's turned back to Miss Morsten. "I'd keep an eye on that dowry, if I were you."

Bucky thinks Watson's discomfort is justified, as the man replies, "Those days are behind me."

"Right, behind you," Sherlock agrees, not at all sounding convinced. "It's costs us the rent more than once."

"Well, with all due respect, Mr. Holmes," Miss Morsten joins, and once again, Sherlock's gaze goes to the ceiling. "You know John very well. What about a complete stranger?" A contemplating pause. "What can you tell about me?"

That got Sherlock's attention back on her real quick. "You?"

At the same time, Watson interjects, "I don't think that's..."

Sherlock give him a look. "I don't know that, that's-"

"Not at dinner."

"Perhaps another time."

 _Take it, lady._ But of course, the woman doesn't take the obvious out. "I insist," she, well, insists.

"You insist?" Sherlock's brows furrowed.

Watson looked ready to argue. "You remember we discussed this."

Sherlock's face was set in mulish determination that Bucky knew all too well. "The lady insists."

Obviously, Watson knows as well as Bucky that nothing he can say or do will change the other man's mind. There was a silent second where they both stared at each other, silently communicating, before Sherlock looked away and brought his seat closer towards Miss Morsten, the legs dragging across marble tiles. 

He was facing her completely as he propped an elbow in the table and settled his chin on his hand, knuckles just over his lips. A heart beat passed with nothing changing on Sherlock's expression before he says, "You're a governess."

"Well done," Miss Morsten smiles.

"Yes, well done," Watson quickly agreeswith her, gaze searching around the room. "Shall we...Waiter!"

"Your student," Sherlock goes on, not even missing a beat as he holds out his glass for Watson to refill, "it's a boy of eight."

"Charlie is seven, actually," she corrects.

"Ah, lovely."

Watson topped off Sherlock's glass with an anxious look, hidden by a stony glare.

"And he's tall for his age. He flicked ink at you today."

Miss Morsten gasps with a delighted smile, aiming it at Watson. "Is there ink on my face?" she asks the man with just a touch of bewilderment.

Watson glances up from where he was filling his own glass, having done so already with his companions. "There's nothing wrong with your face."

She turns back to Sherlock as he points, "There are two drops on your ear, in fact. India blue is nearly impossible to wash off." The look she sends to Watson was bordering on disbelief and a little bit of wariness that Bucky felt was a bit too late to be feeling now. "Anyway, a very impetuous act by the boy, but you are too experienced to react rashly, which is why the lady for whom you work lent you that necklace."

Bucky looks down to the piece of jewelry the same time Miss Morsten does and Sherlock plows through despite the sudden shift in the woman's face. No longer was she impressed or in awe. Instead, she was steadily going into angry territory. 

"Pearls, diamonds, flawless rubies. Hardly the gems of a governess."

Watson tries to calm her down with a subtle shake of his head, and it almost worked if Sherlock hadn't said anything else. 

"However, the jewels you are not wearing, tell is rather more."

"Holmes." There was a warning undertone to the good doctor's voice.

"You were engaged," Sherlock concludes, and Bucky felt his brow tick up. "The ring is gone, but the lightness of skin where it once sat suggests that you spent some time abroad wearing it proudly, that is until you were informed of its true and rather modest worth at which point you broke off the engagement and returned to England for better prospects..." he trails off as Miss Morsten takes a sip of her drink, no longer unable to appear polite. Sherlock looks back to his friend with a mirthless smirk. "A doctor perhaps."

Bucly blinked and the next thing he knew, Sherlock had a face full of wine. The detective kept his gaze firmly away from the woman as Watson shakes his head in apparent disappointment. 

Miss Morsten looks down to the table and says, "Right on all accounts, apart from one." She gazes back at Sherlock. "I didn't leave him...he died."

Then she shared a look with Watson, to which he gives her a small nod that she returned before standing up from the table and walking off.

Sherlock finally moves, sighing through his nose. Watson eyes him, then said, "Well done, old boy," before following after his woman. A plate was immediately placed in front of him, and Bucky thinks that Sherlock is worse than him at expressing his feelings.

**X**

"Woah!"

The whole room erupted in shock when the peaceful, but lonely scene of Sherlock eating suddenly turned into a bloody one - quite literally, as the detective was pushed back against what appeard to be a wooden rink, onlookers cheerong and goading as papers exchanged hands.

"What the hell?" Clint breathes as Sherlock gives his opponent a mocking little clap, chest on display as he had no shirt on.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Rhodey asked, even though his question obviously wouldn't be answered.

His opponent, a large man with short cropped hair, takes a several swings at him that Sherlock easily dodges before ducking under the man's arm and delivering a slap to his back and neck.

Natahsa leaned forward a bit in her seat, a glint of interest in her emerald gaze. Steve could relate to that. No one's really seen Tony fight outside of his suit, so to see this...each strike was filled with precise intent, always hitting their mark and fulfilling their purposes - aggravate the man so much he does not think of his next move.

A quick glance around the room showed Steve that everyone was just as shocked about seeing this as he was.

Then Tony got thrown to the ground, and when he used the rink's edges to pull himself up, there was a handkerchief with the initials I.A. in red stitching. It threw Tony's focus off as he started searching the crowds.

"Dude! You still have a fight!" Sam exclaims.

Steve frowned. Tony hardly gets distracted on the field, and after seeing him in action as Sherlock, he can tell he has a good grip on his focus. So, what the hell was going on?

The punch Steve knew was coming connected with Tony's jaw, making the man spin almost comically before falling back down to the ground to a chorus of pained _oohs._ Steve winced.

"Get up and fight!" the man taunts, and Tony pulls himself back up on slightly insteady legs, face smothered on the handkerchief as he tries to get his bearings. That's when Steve and the rest of them discover the Achilles heel of Sherlock's focus. A beautiful brunette in red, looking so out of place amongst the rough faces of all the other onlookers, winks at Tony with an amused tilt of her painted lips.

Natasha raised a brow. "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd try to update early...I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG!! LIFE HAS JUST BEEN HECTIC!!
> 
> Anyways, that's that. I hope you guys enjoyed, and if you spot any errors in spelling or grammar, feel free to point them out. It's 1:34 A.M. as I finished and am writing this, so I wouldn't be surprised if there's like over a hundred typos.
> 
> M'kay, bye! 
> 
> I'll see you guys in the next chapter! Thanks for holding on!


	5. Last Request

Bucky was sitting on the rafters.

Steve doesn't know how his boyfriend got there, but he supposes it gives him a good view of the fight going on below him. Steve focused back on Tony as he took several deep breaths, and pushed off the ring.

"That's it, big man, we're done," he panted, "you won, congratulations."

All around him, the crowd got louder in protest, but Tony ignored it, making his way towards the exit on slightly unsteady feet.

Unfortunately, his opponent wasn't giving up. "Oi! We ain't done yet!"

Steve cringes and silently agrees with Clint's muttered curses when the man suddenly spat at the back of Tony's head, face twisted in a furious frown. Tony came to a stop, and Steve felt a sense of déjà vu as he watched Tony's face lose any emotion. How many times had he seen Tony do that in the years they've been friends? He's not proud to admit that a lot of those times he was the cause.

The woman in red was shown again as she was talking to a man who was obviously in charge of taking bets, and handed him a folded piece of paper.

Tony's face remained stoic as he thought, "This mustn't register on an emotional level."

Steve was once again enthralled as Tony's surroundings became muted, and in a blink, he was standing back in front of his opponent. Steve's not going to pretend he knows what it is that Tony's doing, but it was a clear display of his genius, and Steve has always loved the way Tony's brain worked. He wonders if Tony would tell them what it's called when they get back.

"First, distract target." In a smooth motion, Tony threw the handkerchief from the ring's edge at the man, the action slowing down as it fluttered closer towards the other man's face. "Then block his blind jab."

Said blind jab sped up, but before it could hit Tony, he slapped the fist away and made a move to strike back. "Counter with cross to the left cheek."

The constant slow and fast motion of the scene gave Steve and the others a good look at just how much damage Tony was inflicting. The side of the man's face which Tony hit rippled upon contact. Obviously winded, the man stumbled back, but Tony didn't let up. Bot of his hands came up towards both sides of his opponents head.

"Discombobulate."

His palms made a successful hit, jarring the man's ears and the resulting ringing made Steve wince just a bit. The man made a valiant attempt to recover as he took another swing at Tony.

"Dazed, he'll attempt a wild hay maker. Employ elbow block."

The elbow block was precise in countering the man's fist.

"And body shot."

Tony's own fist drove into the man's abdomen, making him stumble back again.

"Block thorough left."

Movements fluid, Steve watched as Tony made his actions seem so easy as he stopped the man's whole arm and brought the elbow he used earlier up to the man's lowered face.

"Weaken right jaw."

There was a brief moment of respite where the man continued to stagger before Tony went back in with another hit to the same spot.

"Now fracture. Break cracked ribs."

Another hit to the stomach, followed closely by yet another one. "Traumatize solar plexus."

"Dislocate jaw entirely."

Steve could hear bone cracking as Tony delivered a hit to his opponent's left jaw before his arms suddenly go up, obviously gathering momentum. Then; "Heel kick to diaphragm."

Out of his peripheral, Steve sees Nat smirking proudly as the scene slowed down and showed the man going through the ring's gate in painful detail.

"In summary: jaw fractured, three ribs cracked, four broken, diaphragm hemorrhaging. Physical recovery: six weeks. Full psychological recovery: six months. Capacity to spit at back of head..."

Then the scene changed once more back to normal.

"Neutralized."

Clint chuckled from his seat. "Burn."

The sounds went back to their normal decibel, the protesting screams only getting louder as Tony brought a hand up and touched at his head, face no longer stoic. The woman in red was no longer by the man taking bets, and Steve wondered just how significant her role is in Sherlock's life.

With one last look in that direction, Tony turned and kept an eye on his opponent as he made his way over to the handkerchief. He used it to wipe the spit, before focusing back on the fight. 

The cheering got louder still.

Then, the next thing everyone knew, the other man was going through the ring's gate and landing none too gently on his back.

The cheering came to an abrupt halt.

Onlookers and bettors were stunned.

From somewhere in the crowd, a man asks, "Where did that come from."

Chest heaving, Tony picked up the discarded handkerchief, flicking it clean, before giving the crowd one last look and exiting the ring, paying no heed to his defeated foe. Everyone stepped aside as he passed them and stopped before the man taking bets and pulled aside his coat. Tony looked into the man's eyes directly and took a stack of papers from his coat, leafing through it before placing one on the bar-top and folding the rest to stuff it in his pant's pocket. He picked a bottle up as he came around the bar, then proceeded to pull the cork out with his mouth, spit it unto the ground, and with everyone's eyes still on him, climb up a series of rickety steps, disappearing from sight.

Rhodes huffed. "Show off."

Suddenly, the scene changed as loud, rambunctious shouting filled the room once again, and they were greeted with the sight of a filthy prison with its prisoners banging against the metal bars that held them captive. There was so much commotion, Steve didn't know who or what to focus on. Just then, a group of men in uniform entered, face set in stone and if possible, the shouts got louder.

The lead officer, who was most likely the warden, was undeterred, not even flinching when one of the prisoners threw water at them. The others took care of it. His brisk strides lead him to a more narrow part of the prison where the sounds of choking can be heard. The was already another officer there, but the man was clearly hesistant.

"What the hell is going on here, Charley?!" the warden asked over all the noise

Charley for his part followed after the warden as he continued down the hall. "Lord Blackwood's put him under some kind of spell, sir."

As they got closer, the form of another officer writhing on the ground in front of a cell became clear, hands at his throat as he gurgled and choked. 

"It's like he's burning from the inside out!" Charlie finished, stopping when the warden continued forward towards the cell that Steve could see held Blackwood. The man hand one hand around one of the bars keeping him in.

Steve felt the warning bells in his head go off. Blackwood was bad news.

The cell next to Blackwood's was filled and the prisoners were making a lot of ruckus. The warden pointed his batons at them and shouted, "Shut up!"

They quieted down some, but not completely. Accepting the compromis, the warden looked over his shoulder. "Charley. Charley! Take this man to the infirmary. Now!"

The officer scrambled forward with a few others and they hurried to do as their superior ordered them. The warden watched them go, then faced Blackwood with a clenched jaw. "What's this all about then, Blackwood?"

Blackwood stepped forward, face catching what light the torches in the prison offered, looking as pristine as when he was arrested. "There's someone I want to see."

"That's not ominous, at all," Sam said.

**X**

Bucky blinked his eyes open, resisting the urge to groan. He was not enjoying waking up like this. The last thing he could remember was Tony owning the match before making his way up to the attic of the bar.

The sound of an off-key scale being played on a string instrument had him looking around.

The room was dimly lit and musty, and in the middle of it all, was Sherlock Holmes, staring intently at a cylindrical piece of glass placed on precariously stacked furniture and next to a lit candlestick, a magnifying glass topping the glass.

Were those flies in there?

Bucky slowly moved towards the man, unsure of how to approach him when his enhanced hearing picked up a familiar gait coming up the stairs. Not a second later and Dr. Watson was joining them.

Sherlock didn't even bother turning around, instead, he paused his playing on the violin and stood straight. "Watson?"

Watson, for his part, took a quick look around the room, and declared, "Right. Let's go."

Bucky frowned when he got a good look at Sherlock's face. His eyes seemed a bit too dilated to be normal. He was once again reminded of when the genius would resurface after spending days locked up in his workshop.

While Watson crossed the room towards a small table, Sherlock circled his project and said, "What started merely as an experiment has brought me to the threshold of monumental discovery."

At the sound of shuffling, Bucky looked towards Watson and found the man picking up a small vial and giving it a doubtful look as Sherlock continued, "Now, if I played a chromatic scale, there's no measurable response."

Watson gives his friend an impatient look. "You do know what you're drinking is meant for eye surgery."

 _Eye surgery?!_ Bucky frowned accusingly at the detective.

"But," Sherlock very obviously ignores the other man. "Now, and this is remarkable."

Watson gives up with a shake of his head and Bucky decides to give Sherlock's little experiment a closer look as the man goes on, "If I change to atonal clusters..." he plays the tune that Bucky woke up to, and Bucky is understandably shocked when the flies in the glass who were just flying around aimlessly started flying in one direction around the glass. "Voila! They fly in counter-clockwise, synchronized concentric circles. As though a regimented flock."

Having the look of a man that Bucky has seen on many people who get reluctantly swept up in Tony Stark's genius, Watson comes forward to observe the experiment as well.

"Watson," Sherlock stares at the doctor through the glass, "this is exceptional. I, using musical theory, have created order out of chaos."

He plays the scale again, and Watson looks more closely as he asked, "How did you lure them in?"

Sherlock smiles briefly, strumming the strings of his violin one last time before tucking it away behind him. "Excellent question. Individually. I've been at it for six hours."

Bucky didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Tony _would_ spend six hours catching flies individually, he can see it.

"And what happens if I do this?" Watson took the magnifying glass off and and gave the cylinder a good few taps with his cane, looking straight at Sherlock as he did so and effectively freed the flies.

Sherlock opened his mouth as if to protest, but kept quiet in the end, watching the flies escape into the air.

Oh, Bucky really liked Watson.

"Right," Sherlock says under his breath.

Watson placed the magnifying glass back down. "Clean yourself up. You are Blackwood's last request."

Bucky's vision started to swim and darken around the edges, and before everything turned black, his eyes met Sherlock's and when he opened them again, he was seated in a carriage next to the man with Watson on the other side, body swaying with each bump and pull. But Sherlock was leaning over him, staring out the window the Watson was staring out as well.

"Look at those towering structures," he smiles out at the scene, and Bucky catches Watson looking away as he himself turned to see what has Sherlock sounding excited. "It's the first combination of a Bascule's suspension bridge ever attempted."

The construction was impressive, but Watson wasn't paying it anymore attention.

"Most innovative." Sherlock leans back in his seat, and Bucky felt his lips quirk up at the giddy smile on Sherlock's face, despite his partner's indifference. He spares another glance out at the busy street. "What an industrious empire."

Bucky felt kind of awkward for Sherlock when all the man got in return was an impassive flick of the eyes. This didn't detter the great detective, of course. "Oh, I have you winnings from last night." Out of nowhere, he pulls out the stack of papers and waves it a bit. "You weren't there, so I made your customary bet."

That obviously got the doctor's attention, and when he made a move to take it from Sherlock's outstretched hand, Sherlock pulled it back, a glint in his eyes that Bucky was all to familiar with. "Ah, you're right. I'll keep it with your cheque book, locked safely away in my drawer."

Watson looked close to losing it in the way that he clenched his fist and ran his tongue across his lips rather aggressively.

Sherlock cleared his throat, then shifted a bit in his seat. Bucky doesn't think he could continue to watch this. "Did you know opera house is featuring Don Giovanni? I could easily procure a couple of tickets if you had any cultural inclinations this evening?"

Watson sighs, and Bucky thinks Sherlock should just keep quiet. But of course, he doesn't. Instead, he leans forward a bit and says, "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion."

Bucky wants to say, _I told you so,_ when Watson's fist came but settles on letting his knee bump against Sherlock's, as the man groans a bit and holds up a white handkerchief to his not-bleeding nose. He was looking at Watson as if the man has done the unthinkable.

"I knew she'd been engaged," Watson tells him, finally speaking. "She told me."

Sherlock pulls the piece of cloth away from his face with a sniff. "So that's no to the opera, then?"

Watson just gives him a look, before going back to ignoring the other man. Sherlock seemingly accepts this with a quick look around the carriage, before settling on something next to Watson on his seat. He made to grab it and the doctor was quick to catch the other end of it, so it was suspended between them.

"That was my waist coat," he reminded Sherlock.

"I thought we agreed it was too small for you."

"I'd like it back."

Jesus H. Christ, were they actually arguing about this?

"I thought we agreed." Sherlock tugged on the waist coat.

Watson tugs back. "I want it back."

For a second it seemed neither of them were going to yield, however, when the sound of tearing could be heard, Sherlock lets go, and Watson successfully pulls it towards him before balling it up and throwing it out the carriage window, all the while looking straight at Sherlock.

For his part, Sherlock just rolls his head towards said window and raises both his brows in an unconcerned way and looked back to Watson. Bucky shakes his head when he sees Watson try to stop himself from smiling.

Punks, the two of them. Five-year-old punks.

When they arrived at the prison, there was a lot of people dressed in black and holding up signs and crosses. What they were protesting, Bucky couldn't really be bothered to be curious about as he followed Sherlock out of the carriage, the man stuffing his pipe while Watson stepped out behind them. The doctor had a bulky case in addition to his cane. There was a line of police officers keeping the people under control as well as providing the two men with a clear path toward the entrance.

"Blackwood certainly seems to have gotten the crowd into something of a fear frenzy," he observes.

"I'm certain it would disperse once his feet have stop twitching," Sherlock assured the man. "Care to come along?"

Watson looks around, then answered, "No, you're on your own, old cock. I've no business with him whilst he's alive."

Sherlock made a non-committal sound. "Suit yourself, mother hen."

Bucky shook his head as he followed after Sherlock, amusement tugging up at his mouth. It was quickly diminished when they entered the prison, however. The feeling of foreboding settled heavily in his stomach like an anvil.

Oh, what he would give to have one of his knives right about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, hey~ it only took me a month to update this time XD 
> 
> As always, I hope you guys enjoyed, and if you saw any typos or grammatical errors, please feel free to point them out. 
> 
> Much appreciated, loves!!


	6. Miss Adler For Hire

The further they walked into the prison, the more Bucky wished he had _any_ form of weaponry on his person. Everything was dark and grey and...quiet.

Too quiet.

Especially for a prison.

The guard whose been assigned to show them Blackwood's cell shoved open a door and the stillness that greeted them had Bucky's small hairs stand on end. As they rounded a corner and down some steps, Bucky raised a brow at the row of open, empty cells.

"This is supposed to be a prison, right?" He asked quietly even though no one else would hear him.

Sherlock glanced at him over his shoulder under the guise of checking out the cells as they continued after the officer. "It, uh, seems you have lots of rooms to let."

"We have to move the prisoners, sir," the officer replied, and Sherlock hummed. "Otherwise we're gonna have a riot on our hands. He has, uh, peculiar effect on the inmates, as though..."

Bucky twitched when the officer fell out of step with them, coming to a halt as Sherlock continied forward, the officer's gaze tinged with terror as he stared ahead at the darkened cell at the end of the hall.

"...he can get inside their heads."

Sherlock stopped as well and turned back to the officer, lips curling up just a bit. Blackwood's voice drifted towards them now that they were closer, sounding as if he was reading something but Bucky couldn't make out the words yet.

The officer swallowed nervously, and Sherlock said, "I'm sure I can find my way if you have other duties to perform."

Bucky's head whipped towards Sherlock in disapproval, not at all liking the idea of Blackwood being anywhere near the other man even if they were separated by bars.

Out of his peripheral, the officer give a shakey nod, shifting on his feet. "Much obliged, sir. Thank you, sir."

And just like that, the officer turned on his heel and rushed away. Bucky made sure to show Sherlock how much he hated what he just did when they meet eyes, but Sherlock (because he's Tony Stark in the end), just gives him a shrug that obviously said, _What could you do?_ , before continuing down the hall to the only occupied cell with a scratch of his head.

Bucky followed him, resisting the almost knee-jerk reaction to pull Sherlock away from the bars when he stepped right up to them as he peered into the cell.

Closer now, Bucky could understand Blackwood's words and was surprised to realize he was reading from the Bible. _Revelations,_ his patched up brain provided, foggy memories of accompanying the Rogers' on Sunday mornings to church coming to mind.

"I love what you've done to the place." Sherlock's voice brought Bucky's attention to the cell walls, eyes straining a bit to see the shallow engravings that had been carved into the cement under the minimal lighting. His brows furrowed in confusion. The symbols and writings were all gibberish to him, but he knew they weren't about unicorns and rainbows.

Blackwood looks up from his reading, but kept his back to them. "So glad you could accept my invitation."

"I just have a small point of concern," Sherlock goes on, clearly intent on not indulging Blackwood.

There was a pause, and Bucky could tell that the disgraced lord was rethinking his strategy. "How can I help?"

Sherlock was quick to answer, "I've already followed the murders with some interest, and while my heart went out primarily to the families of the victims, I couldn't but notice a criminal mastery in the stroke of your brush."

Bucky gritted his teeth when Blackwood says, "You're too kind."

Sherlock shifts to lean his shoulder against the bars as he adds, "However, by comparison, your work in the crypt was more akin to finger painting."

Blackwood moves then, turning in his cot to face Sherlock. Pages rustled as he closed his Bible. Sherlock, whose eyes flitted around the room, faced the other man head on, so to say. Bucky had to constantly remind himself that no one else but Sherlock could see him and any type of posturing to intimidate will be useless.

He is really hating Blackwood.

_At least the fucker's finally getting hanged._

"So now you're curious if there's a larger game afoot?" Blackwood questions with a tilt of his head and with far too much calm for a man who was about to die.

Bucky keeps his eyes on Blackwood and watches Sherlock from his peripheral as the man inhales, mouth opening as if to say something before letting out a non-committal hum. He moves further down the bars and breaks eye contact while saying, "Either that or, um-" he looks back to Blackwood, "shortly my friend will pronounce you dead and I thought I might keep him company."

A taunt.

Bucky wants to wring Sherlock's neck.

Blackwood's gaze narrows minutely. "Your mistake is to imagine that anything earthly has lead to this moment. Your error of judgement is to assume I'm holding the brush at all. I'm merely the channel."

Sherlock appeared unconcerned throughout the other man's answer, which is further reinforced when he tell's Blackwood, "Well, my only wish is that I could've caught you sooner. You see...five lives might've been spared."

This time, Blackwood hums, dark gaze empty of any emotion. "Those lives were a necessity."

Sherlock hums back, his own gaze flickering up as his lips folded in together. Bucky recognized the tick. Tony often did it when he found something he didn't like.

"Sacrifice," Blackwood resumes on a whisper, as if he was sharing the key to unlocking the world's secrets. "Five otherwise meaningless creatures called to seeve a greater purpose."

"I wonder if they'd let Watson and me dissect your brain. After you hang, of course," Sherlock immediately follows, before his gaze snaps back to Blackwood with faux sympathy.

For the first time since they've arrived, Bucky catches a glimpse of emotion on Blackwood's face -- irritation.

"I'd wager there's some deformity that'll be scientifically significant," the detective continues, turning so his back was against the cell bars, and Bucky wanted to rage. "Then you, too, could serve a greater purpose."

He had just pulled his pipe out from his pocket and placed it in his mouth to give it a few tries, when Blackwood was suddenly _right-fucking-there_ , and Bucky swore in Russian because that...he didn't even see the other man move.

Sherlock simply froze, face going blank when Blackwood growls, "Holmes, you must widen your gaze. I'm concerned you underestimate the gravity of coming events. You and I are bound together on a journey that would twist the very fabric of nature. But beneath your mask of logic I sense a fragility. That worries me. Steel your mind, Holmes...I need you."

And just like that, Sherlock snapped out of it, finally making a move to leave but not quick enough in Bucky's fucking opinion. "I say you've come a long way down from House of Lords," he tells the other man and takes his pipe into his mouth again.

"Then I will rise again," Blackwood replies easily.

Sherlock continues to walk away but spares him a glance. "Bon voyage."

"Pay attention."

When Sherlock stops, Bucky almost explodes as his stress levels went through the fucking roof. He needs Sherlock to get away from Blackwood. _Now._

Seeing Sherlock's pause, Blackwood says, "Three more will die. And there is nothing you can do to save them. You must accept that this is beyond your control. Of the time you realize you made all of this possible, it'll be the last sane thought in your head."

Bucky watches with an incredulous glare as Sherlock takes a second longer in Blackwood's presence to light his pipe before blowing out a puff of smoke, and with one last glance at Blackwood's imprisoned form, finally, _finally_ walks away and back down the hall, stuffing his hands in his pant's pockets.

Overhead, at the top of a flight of stair Bucky really didn't see earlier, there was a group of people all dressed in black, watching Sherlock. Bucky recognizes Lestrade standing next to a priest when the inspector calls down, "What did he want?"

Gaze absent and trained in front of him, Sherlock answers around his pipe, "Not sure." Then he pulls the pipe back out and looks up as he addressed the priest, "But I don't think you're needed, father. Not for this one."

Bucky could still feel Blackwood's gaze on Sherlock as he follows the detective down the hall.

**X**

"Lord Henry Blackwood, you're sentenced to death for the practice of black magic. The unholy murder of five innocent young women, and the attempted murder of a sixth. Do you have any final words?"

"Death...is only the beginning."

Steve didn't realize his fists were clenched, or that his jaw was gritted and his whole body was tense until he felt a warm touch on his hand. He looks down and finds Nat running her fingers across his white knuckles.

He exhales heavily and forces himself to relax.

The whole conversation with Blackwood had him on edge, and he coild practically see it on Bucky.

A black bag was whipped over Blackwood's head and the noose followed after quickly. Steve tried to dredge up some sympathy for the guy, but there was none to be found as the signal was given and the floor underneath Blackwood fell open. 

When his feet stopped twitching, the body was pulled down and placed across an examination table where Lastrade watched over Doctor Watson's shoulder as the man checked for a pulse. He lingered by the neck, before pulling back.

"That...is the end of Lord Blackwood."

"Good fucking riddance," Sam mutters, and the scene changes.

The street in front of apartment 221B was busy with foot traffic and horse drawn carriages. Then there was Sherlock, snoring away in his room, face twitching and, god, when was the last time Steve had seen Tony's face so relaxed in his sleep?

But, of course, his sleep was interrupted as a rather feminine hand crushed two walnuts together, the resulting sound enough to rouse the genius detective. He sniffed just as a female, American-accented voice speaks, "London's so bleak this time of year."

It was like a switched was flipped, because Tony was suddenly awake, his chocolate brown eyes widening with what looked like mild panic.

"Is that-?" Clint began then paused.

"The woman from the pub," Nat comfirms for him

"Is Tony lying on-?"

"A tiger, yes. Now hush."

The woman picks up a plate of sorts as she stands up and makes her way over to Tony's still form. "Not that I'm pining for New Jersey. I much prefer to travel in the winter."

The panicked look on Tony's face became more and more obvious and he makes a move to get up when the woman comes around and kneels in front of him, the book Steve didn't see he was hugging dropping to the floor with a thud as he throws off the ratty blanket around his shoulders.

"Here, I brought you these," the woman offers with a smile, placing the plate next to Tony, "all the way from Syria."

Tony continues to look panicked even as the woman stands back up. "I found these exquisite dates in Jordan, and your favorite...olive from the Cyclades."

She pops said olive into her mouth and makes her way towards one of the many desks in Tony's apartment with ease that told Steve she's been there before, more than once. 

"Thought we might have a little tea party."

Tony seemed to realize something, and with the woman's back turned to him, hastily got to his feet as she continues. "And while I was setting the table," she takes a green folder and opens it by the window light and leafs through the new paper clippings, "I found this: A file with my name on it."

Steve couldn't help but be amused as Tony side-steps towards a painting, eyes trained on the woman, reaching under the frame before pulling it open to reveal a safe behind it. He quickly gave the knob a few twists.

"Theft of Velázquez portrait from king of Spain."

Tony swings the painting back in place and moves back.

"Missing naval documents lead to resignation of Bulgarian prime minister."

He takes the plate she offered him earlier and tussled his hair, effectively making his bed hair wilder in appearance, then back-pedals towards yet another end table still watching the woman as he reaches down towards a picture frame with what appeared to be a black and white photo of the woman herself and flips it down unto its face.

"Scandalous affair ends engagement of..." But it was too late. She turned back around towards him she quite obviously saw the picture. Tony, for his part, acts as if he did nothing, popping a wallnut into his mouth. The woman was not impressed. "Hapsburg prince to Romanov princess."

On Nat's other side, Bruce lets out a disbelieving huff of laughter. "I should've known."

"That's her then?" Nat quirks a brow up.

"Care to share with the class?" Clint pipes in.

Bruce grins. "It's Irene Adler."

"Who?"

"Just watch."

Steve does just that.

Tony sniffs, gaze going back to Irene. "I was simply studying your methods...should the authorities ask me to hunt you down."

"Ah." The nod Irene directs at him was anything but convinced. She moves away from the window. "But I don't see my name in any of these articles."

Tony meets her half way, and Steve feels a flare of jealousy when they stand enitrely too close to each other. Something was telling him Sherlock and Irene weren't just friends.

"But your signature was clear," Tony replies and Irene closes the file just as Tony reaches towards her neck and tugs. "Is that the maharajah's missing diamond?"

Said diamond slipped from Irene's cleavage and settled at the base of her throat. Tony gives her an obviously fake smile.

"Or just another souvenir?"

Irene reaches for the diamond and slips it back into her dress. "Let's not dwell on the past."

Tony just stares, and it doesn't bother Steve. It doesn't.

"Shall we?" Irene gestures towards the low small table she set up with an overly sweet smile, and while Tony moves to sit, he gives her one last suspicious look. "Now by the looks of thing, you're between jobs."

"And you between husbands," Tony retorts. "How much did you get for the ring?"

Sam chokes on air. "Anyone think this is kinda weird?"

He receives several shushes in reply.

They sat down as Irene sighs, "Oh, he was boring and jealous, and he snored." She leans back in her chair briefly before sitting forward and watches Tony pour them tea before shrugging demurely. "I'm Irene Adler again."

"Still don't know who she is," Clint grumbles.

The moment was ruined by a farting sound that had even Strange and Wong snickering when Irene glances down and finds Gladstone looking between her and Tony, who gives him a passing side eye and continues to pour tea as if nothing happened.

"Thank you," Irene says before bringing up her tea cup to take a sip, eyeing Tony over the rim.

Tony, for his part, looks into his drink then at Irene in disbelief. Irene tilts the cup back down while Tony sniffs his tea and keeps the woman in his sights. Irene was almost smiling when she sets the cup back in its plate she was holding in her pther hand before placing the duo back on the table.

"I need your help," she tells him, and Tony drew in a breath that was equal parts exasperation and irritation, making Steve wonder just what the deal is with the two. "I need you to find someone."

With that, she reaches back into her dress neckline but was immediately stopped when Tony's hand shot out to grasp her wrist and his other was raising in defense as he exhales and makes a loose fist.

Irene smiles this time, amusement in her blue eyes. "Why are you always so suspicious."

"Should I answer chronologically...or alphabetically?" he deadpans.

"Careful not to cut yourself on this _lethal_ envelope." Irene tugs at his hold and pulls out a innocent-enough looking missive and places it delicately on the table between them. "I think you'll find all the information you need inside."

There was a pause as Tony studies her in obvious conflict, before asking, "Who are you working for?"

Irene smiles.

"So, I'll have to find out the hard way," Tony concludes. 

Instead of answering, Irene pulls out a pouch and places it on the table that had her portrait, coins clinking.

"Keep your money. I didn't say I'll take the case."

"Well," Irene stands up then, "consider it a wager that you will."

She walkes around Tony and back to where she was sitting earlier and Tony took the opportunity to look at the envelope.

"Do you remember The Grand?" she calls back as Tony reads the envelope stamp, and comes back with a coat drapped over her arm. "They gave me our old room."

Instead of answering, Tony reached down and pulls up a violin, perching it on his lap and playing mindlessly on it as Irene looks over his shoulder then flips her portrait back to its original standing, further solidifying the fact that she saw his move earlier. With a parting pat to his arm, she leaves his room, and when she steps out of the door, Tony turns to watch.

Another door opens on the first floor of 221B as Doctor Watson enters ad was just about to close it when Irene calls, "Hold the door."

Doctor Watson was quick to step aside and fulfill his duty, smiling as he receives a, "Thanks, doctor."

When he was finally able to close the door, however, his smile disappeared and was replaced by a puzzled frown.

"He knows something," Clint points out as they watch Irene join the busy crowd outside the apartment.

Back inside, Watson was pulling off his coat and hat, before giving the door another puzzled frown.

Clint hold his hand out. "And he's very confused about it."

The scene switches back to Irene who was no walking around a corner with a bouquet of roses in the crook of her arm. The continues down the bustling streets, surreptitiously glances over her shoulder and turns to a waiting black carriage.

"Ma'am," the man holding its door open greeted, before pushing it shut after her.

The inside was dark as she settles down and fixes her gaze at the seat across from her. "He'll do it."

"Well done, Miss Adler," a shadowed man replies, top hat tilting as the carriage began to move. "That's precisely why I hired you."

Steve narrowed his eyes. So, Irene Adler is working for someone after all, and Steve doesn't think he's a good guy.

Irene visibly takes a breath, and Steve takes note of the sudden unease in her posture. "I wager he'll have our man within the next twenty-four hours."

"He'd better. Reordan is the key to what Blackwood was doing. He's essential to my plan."

"I think this whole thing just took a turn," Sam comments. "And not for the best."

"When does it ever?" Nat quips.

There was distant ruckus followed by a shout as the carriage jolts to a halt. "Get off out it!"

"What are you doing? Can't you see where you're going?" A second voices calls out as a man in a dirty coat rolls to his feet. "You scalp diver."

"Get off out of it!"

Irene looks over to the window when the man appeared, a worn hat pulled low over his face and a patch across his eye. "A little rifle range would go a long way, sir, rubbing the calluses off these German bands."

The fear on Irene's face was all the warning Steve got before the shadowed man whips his hand towards the newcomer and a small caliber gun was suddenly in play. The scruffy man understandbly backed away.

"God save the queen." The gun disappeared up into the man's sleeve. "God save the queen, sir."

Irene swallows as her eyes track her companion's moves.

"She's scared," Nat mutters and Steve nods his agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...sorry again for taking forever to update. My only excuse being I haven't found the time to sit down and write. SORRY T0T 
> 
> Anyways, I had so much planned for this chapter, but it ended up being too long in my opinion, so I had to cut it in half, so sorry about thatas well! I was really excited for the disguise scene~
> 
> Fear not though, it'll be in the next chapter!
> 
> As per usual, this is unedited, so if you guys spotted any typose of grammatical errors, feel free to point them out!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see y'all next time!!


	7. Panic, Sheer Bloody Panic

Bucky...Bucky isn't jealous. He never has been, and never will be. That was more of Steve's forte, anyway. So, yeah, not jealous. And he has proof. Never once, was he jealous when Steve had that thing going on with Peggy way back when. Sad, yes, but never jealous. 

Almost a century and decades of hardships later, and Bucky still isn't jealous. In fact, he reveled in the attention Steve garnered everytime they went out and would even encourage it at times when he was feeling like being more of a little shit than usual. He especially loved the Avengers galas SI regularly schedules because public image is something they have to keep up and Pepper is always right.

(And no Avenger was brave enough to defy Virginia Potts.)

So, not jealous.

Irene Adler, who? He totally wasn't glaring at the picture Sherlock had of her on his little vanity table. No, siree.

Doctor Watson was smirking behind his paper, top hat sitting crookedly on his head. "Look at you."

Sitting in front of a mirror, Tony was wiping at his face with a white cloth as Watson asks, "Why is it the only woman you've ever cared about a world class criminal? Are you a masochist?"

Tony pulls the cloth away. "Allow me to explain."

"Allow me," Watson interjects. "She's the only adversary who ever outsmarted you. Twice."

Sherlock only slumps forward and cups a hand under his cheek as Watson turns back to his paper and continued, "Made a proper idiot out of you."

"Right, you've have your fun," Sherlock tells him and tugs at his ear.

"What's she after, anyway?" Watson asked, apparently not done with ribbing his friend.

"It's time to press on. "

"What could she possibly need?"

Sherlock had picked up the cloth again and rubbed behind the ear he was tugging. "Doesn't matter."

There was a small thud as Sherlock sets the cloth back down and moves to stand up.

"What could she possibly need? An alibi? A beared?" Watson folds the corner of his paper forward so he could watch Sherlock as the detective makes his way across the room. "A human canoe? She could sit on your back and paddle you up the Thames?"

Bucky couldn't help but snort at that before scowling. Just how far gone is Sherlock on Irene Adler? His brain knows that this isn't Tony, and that he has no claim over the genius, but dammit, that doesn't mean he has to like any of this.

"That's of no consequence to you, is it, Watson?" Sherlock replies as he bends down to reach and gather the envelope and its contents Irene had left him. "We have done _our_ last case together."

"I've already read it," Watson announces from behind his paper that he had resumed reading.

A look of mild irritation crossed Sherlock's face before he lets the papers fall back to the table and Bucky finally caught sight of its contents. There was a short note accompanied by a photo. 

While Bucky studied it, Sherlock walks away from the table and Watson abandons his paper yet again and goes on, "Missing person. Luke Reordan, four-foot-ten, red hair, no front teeth. Case solved."

Bucky looks over his shoulder just in time to see Sherlock had swooped his violin up from the floor where he had abandoned it earlier and tuck it against his chest.

"You're obviously not her type," Watson concludes with a shit-eating smirk and prepared to go back to reading. "She likes ginger dwarfs."

"Midget," Sherlock easily corrects.

Bucky matches Watson's frown as the other man asked, "So you agree?"

"No, I don't agree." Sherlock plucks at a string on his violin. "It's more than a technicality, you see. You're misrepresenting the dimensions of foreshortened peoples."

Watson's eyes slid shut with a grimace as Sherlock came to stand beside his chair. "I've said too much, I can tell, I've upset you."

"No. I am simply stating, that one has-"

"What were you doing?" Watson interrupts as he tilted his head back to look at Sherlock.

"Will you allow me to explain?" Sherlock shot back.

The doctor gives him a look. "I wish you would."

Bucky exhales as Sherlock catched his friend up with what happened, and Bucky thinks back on it in detail.

The moment Irene pulled the door shut after herself, Sherlock scrambled from his seat, abandoning his instrument on his way to the window, carelessly tossing away everything and anything in his path.

"What the-" Bucky followed after the man.

By the time Sherlock rolled the window up, Irene was already making her way down the steps of 221B and joining the foot traffic. 

Stumbling over the clutter again(Bucky couldn't help but wince at the sound of breaking glass), Sherlock abruptly stops in front of the desk that had Irene's portrait on it, which he slammed down once more, he bent down to see his reflection in the mirror and placed something on his face. 

"The hell are you doin'?" Bucky frowned over his shoulder and tried to makes sense of the situation when he didn't get an answer by looking over what littered the desk. 

He barely registered the gray wig on a mannequin head and what he thought looked like false teeth before Sherlock was practically dashing out of the room. Bucky took two steps down at a time to catch up with the man and almost toppled over when Sherlock almost slammed into another window at the stairs' landing and pushed it up, too, just as Watson joined him with a confused look.

"Holmes, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock answered, sounding a bit nasally as he turned around to face the doctor.

Bucky frowned again upon seeing Sherlock's face.

Watson did as well. "Are you wearing a false--"

"False nose? No." Sherlock interjected.

Watson then looked back behind him and bent down at his waist to point at the front door, not at all reacting when Sherlock took the coat he had hanging over his arm and stepped up unto the window's ledge. "Tell me that that wasn't--"

"That wasn't." Sherlock's words were followed by the weirdest war cry Bucky had ever heard as the man jumped out of the window.

A startled shout ripped itself out of Bucky's throat as he lurched towards the window, heart thumping wildly against his ribs with worry then fury because Sherlock landed an top of a tin roof of some structure right beneath the window -- perfectly safe.

"Asshole," Bucky grumbled before jumping after his idiot to the sound of Watson asking, "Holmes, where are you going?"

Bucky opened his mouth to give Sherlock a piece of his mind but already the man was jumping, again, to a wooden surface that cracked and caved under his weight. The was a loud crash of splintering wood and shattering glass followed by a puff of black dust that sprung through the Sherlock-sized hole.

"Watson!" Sherlock called out in distress, "Argh. Watson!"

However, the good doctor was apparently done with his shenanigans because there was a resounding thud as he rolled the window shut.

Bucky honestly did not blame the man.

He dropped down from his perch and was prepared to see what he can do to help the detective, but was thwarted when the door to the small building Sherlock fell through was kicked down and the man himself stepped out covered in what looked to be soot as if he did not just shave ten years off of Bucky's life.

"We are going to have some words," he growled at the man's back as he followed after him.

Sherlock maneuvered the back alleys with an ease that told Bucky this was not the first time he had gone this way. It didn't take long for them to catch up to Irene, and while even though no one but Sherlock can see him, Bucky backed up into cover with the guy when Sherlock did and resisted the urge to smack the back of his head, because really? They were hiding behind a bird cage.

None the less, it seemed to ne sufficient for the detective because he stayed there and watched as Irene continued down a straight path but was stopped by a man thay spelled trouble.

"Got some flowers for you, sweetheart," he said as Irene passed him and held out a bouquet lf red roses to her.

Bucky then resisted the urge to cry out in frustration when Irene stopped and turned to face the man.

"Cut you a deal because you're so pretty."

"Oh." Irene smiled at the man then eyed the roses and bent forward to smell them, completely ignorant of a second man coming up behind her. "My lucky day."

"Hello, gorgeous," second man said. "You got something for me?"

Bucky gritted his teeth in anger because jealousy or no, Irene doesn't deserve to be mugged. He glanced at Sherlock, wondering why the man hadn't intervened yet.

Suddenly, Irene spun around and was smaking what appeared to be a mini baton across the second man's face, then his side, then his face again, sending him to the ground before she was on his accomplice and the baton turned out to be a sheathed knife that she dragged up the man's vest, tearing its buttons off with precision, and stopping to press at the side of his face.

"Don't move," she ordered as she cupped her hand over his mouth and and across her blade. She let the knife slide out from under her finger tips and to the man's throat before she pulled her hand away from his mouth to pull aside his coat. "Now what've we got here?"

The gasp she let out was anything but geniune as she pulled out the man's wallet and held it up with a dainty _oh._ She gave him a saccharine smile before letting her blade flick over the man's face again and pulled away with the roses. "Thank you."

With that, she sniffed them again and Bucky had his answer.

"That's the Irene I know," Sherlock said under his breath and pulled away from the cage as the woman turned a corner.

Bucky keeps one step behind Sherlock as he continues his pursuit which lead them to what seemed like a warm-up for a circus act with flaming circles, barking dogs and colorful tents. Sherlock weaves through the people, snatched up a piece of bread and bit into it, giving his surroinding a once over. Irene walks past it all without breaking stride and trudged up some steps that lead up to what Bucky can only explain as an old-fashioned trailer full of ladies dolling up.

Sherlock was right behind her, setting his half eaten bread on a table and traded it for an eye patch that no one saw him take, followed by a beat up tall hat. Bucky kept his eye on Irene and halts with Sherlock as her steps slowed before she twisted around to look behind her with a suspecting frown. Fortunately, Sherlock had stepped behind a huge, tall man lifting dumbells. Still forwning, Irene turns back to resume walking and Sherlock easily fell back into the chase.

Bucky resisted the urge to ask him what he shoved into his mouth and why he tied his scraf or why he tilted his hat. It was answered quickly after, anyways.

The sound of a bad violin note pulled Bucky back from his thoughts as Sherlock concluded, "This man intrigues me, Watson. He's got Adler on edge."

"And she's no mean feat," Watson reminds him with a point towards where he now sat in his own seat next to the doctor.

"She's intimidated," Sherlock adds with a squint of his eyes. "She's scared of him."

"Yet she works for him."

Sherlock paused in his movement to set his violin on the floor, simply staring at his friend for a second then said, "Right."

"It's nothing to do with me," Watson begins to say as he looks down at the nails of his hand and picks at something on his knuckle, "but I advise you...leave the case alone."

Sherlock audibly breaths in as he sits back in his seat. "Well, I may not have a choice, hm?" When Watson just continues to watch him, he continued, "After all, I may be paying the rent on my own soon-" he twists the violin bow in his hand and points it at Watson, "-thanks to you."

Watson focuses back on his knuckle. "Get that out of my face."

"It's not in your face, it's in my hand."

"Get what's in your hand out of my face."

Bucky lets his head thunk back on the floor where he had sprawled himself out on just as a voice calls out from somewhere beyond the apartment room, "Mr. Holmes?"

"Clarkie," Sherlock calls back and Bucky lifts his head to watch as the familiar officer walks in with his hat tucked under an arm.

"Sir, Inspector Lestrade asks that you come with me at once," Clarkie rushes out with a nervous energy that rolled off him in waves. 

"What's he done now, lost his way to Scotland Yard?" Sherlock asks rhetorically as he fiddles with his bow and shares a short chuckle with Watson at the joke. "Watson, grab a compase. _You_ means _us._ "

Watson hummed. "No. _You_ means _you._ "

Bucky didn't miss the way Sherlock's face tightened at his friend's dismissal.

"It's Lord Blackwood, sir," Clarkie interjects loudly, drawing Bucky's attention back to him. "He, ah..." The officer's chest heaved as he took a deep breath and Bucky sat up in interest. "Well...it appears he's...come back from the grave, sir."

What?

Bucky looked back to Sherlock and Watson and found Watson rubbing at his eye and Sherlock touching the bow to his forehead with a blank look. Then he moved, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward, putting down his bow and steepled his fingers under his mouth. "Most engaging."

Watson pinched at the bridge of his nose. "That's clever," he said, tone implying the total opposite. "I pronounced the man dead myself."

Clarkie only shuffled his feet at that.

"What are the facts?" Sherlock asked, taking the different route as Watson in his line of questioning.

"Groundskeeper claims he saw him walking through the graveyard this morning, sir," Clarkie answered straight away.

"I'll leave this in your capable hands," Watson tell Sherlock as he shifts forward in his seat and gave the man's knee a few pats before standing up. "I have an appointment with Mary."

"It's not my reputation that's at stake here," Sherlock quips after him as he made his way into his office.

Watson points a warning finger at Sherlock. "Don't try that."

"Has the newspapers caught wind of it?" Sherlock continues to ask.

Again, Clarkie provided an answer. "Well, that's what we're trying to avoid sir."

"Certainly," the detective agrees, eyes going distant even as they flicker around the room. "What's the major concern?"

"Panic. Sheer bloody panic, sir."

Bucky decides it was time to stand up.

"Indeed."

"You're not taking this seriously, are you, Holmes?" Watson interjects, still in his office and making no move to get ready to see Mary. Instead, he leaned back to perch himself against his desk.

"Yes, as you should," Sherlock confirms on a nod as he turned to face the other man.

Watson looked at him in disbelief before huffing, seemingly lost for words.

"This is a matter of professional integrity," the detective declares with a slap to his knee as he pushed himself up to his feet and stared resolutely ahead. "No girl wants to marry a docotr who can't tell if a man's dead or not."

 _Ouch._ It was obviously a bait, one that Bucky has seen Tony use before with a success rate of a hundred percent. Doctor John Watson's crossed arms and tongue bite was his white flag.

**X**

"No wonder he's so good at that," Rhodes comments drily from his seat, and when Steve looked to the man, one side of his mouth was pulled back in a small smile. "He's been doing it for centuries."

"But he's got a point, though," Steve shrugs at him. "Dr. Watson's name is on the line if Blackwood really is alive."

"You wanna bet if he really is?" Natasha mutters next to him then quirked a brow up in challenge.

Across from them, Clint huffs. "Yeah, no. I think we all know the answer to that."

"Seems like people had a hard time staying dead back then, too," Bruce comments before taking a sip of his tea that Strange provided him a little earlier.

"Are we all just gonna ignore Tony's disguise skills?" Sam opens his palms out in question. "Like seriously?"

Clint shushed him as the scene changed to show a cemetery bustling with police activity. Sam shot him a flat look, but kept quiet none the less.

Steve settled back in his seat and watched as Watson and Tony stepped out of a carriage, Bucky barely missing getting the door slammed on him by Clarkie.

Everyone got a chuckle out of that.

As the four men began walking, Watson glanced around the ground while Tony looked on through the dark lenses of his ridiculous looking glasses. Steve shook his head in fond exasperation.

"Who do you think won the match, Clarkie?" Watson suddenly asks the officer out of the blue.

"Sir?" 

"The rugby match," Watson elaborates as he points at the grooves on the gravel and Tony briefly turns to walk backwards in his quest of looking around before turning back as Watson goes on, "Your boys had done a magnificent job obliterating any potential evidence."

Tony huffs a small laugh. "Yes. But at least they never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity."

Watson smiles his agreement with an amused tilt of his head just as they arrive at a destroyed tomb.

"You took your time, Holmes," Lestrade's voice echoes from the darkness of the ruins.

"And on the third day," Tony says in an ominous voice as he continues forward to meet the inspector who briskly climbs up the steps of the tomb.

"These slabs are sand stone, they half a ton each if they're a pound, and they were smashed from the inside," Lestrade says by way of greeting.

"Lestrade, what of the coffin?" Tony easily counters.

The inspector glanced off to the side then back to Tony. "We are in the process of bringing it up now."

"I see." Together, the two men looked off to their side, Lestrade with impatience, and Tony with amusement over his glasses. "Hmm. Right. At what stage of the process?" Tony turns back to the inspector from seeing the nervous shuffling of the officers. "Contemplative?"

Watson glanced at them, too.

"Anyhow, where's our witness?"

Lestrade nods just over his shoulder. "He's over there. And apparently he's cata-- cat--"

"Catatonic, sir," Clarkie provides when his superior looked to him.

"He's not feeling very well," Lestrade says instead after a brief pause.

"Yes." Tony's brows were raised in concealed amusement as he adjusts his glasses and Lestrade walks off towards his men.

"You know," Clint comments, "I have a love-hate relationship with law enforcement."

A murmur of agreements went around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, hey, it's 2019!! 
> 
> Unedited as usual~ let me know if you see any typos~
> 
> Love y'all!! I'm going to sleep now...


	8. Apt Prediction

Bucky stood over the broken slabs of Blackwood's tomb and couldn't help but feel just a bit useless.

When he hears Lestrade stomp off to his men, he pivoted on his feet and watched as Watson shares a look with Sherlock and pointed over his shoulder at the witness - an old man who looked exactly like someone who would work in a graveyard - while Sherlock joined him in looking over the damage to the tomb.

"Now, you get down there and you bring that coffin up now!" 

At Lestrade's command, the officers finally moved and even though he didn't need to, Bucky stepped aside and ventured towards Watson as the Doctor greeted the grave's keeper. "Good day, sir."

The man grumbled out a quiet, "Hello."

Without pause, Watson reached for the hand the man had curled up by his mouth and said, when the elder flinched, "It's alright. I'm a doctor."

Bucky turned back to watch Sherlock when Watson started administering standard medical procedures and balked when he finds the detective sitting on a smaller piece of the broken slabs and licking at a stone... _twice_ and sniffing like it was a perfectly normal human being thing to do!

He felt his inner Steve Rogers Mama Bear mode activate, however, before he could open his mouth to say anything, he sees Watson move away from the witness out of his peripheral and informs Lestrade, "The man's in shock. He may need a few moments."

The spiel about proper hygiene and germs that was building up in his head was put on the back-burner as Bucky focuses on the doctor and inspector.

"The witness stated that he saw Lord Blackwood rise from the grave," Lestrade tells Watson as the other man comes to stand next to him. "Well?"

Even without seeing his full face, Bucky could tell Watson was confused by the question. "Well?"

"You pronounced him dead."

"He had no pulse," Watson replies after an incredulous pause, emphasizing each word.

Lestrade just turns away from him as if the doctor's words were an excuse rather than fact. 

Just then, the officer sent to retrieve Blackwood's coffin emerged from the tomb's inky darkness, said coffin carried evenly between three officers and one at the end. It was a fancy coffin, Bucky noted, even though it reminded him of old illustrations of Dracula's coffin. Now that he thinks about it, Blackwood kind of reminds him of Dracula.

Bucky was snapped out of his thoughts when the officers carefully set the coffin down and Sherlock slowly made his way towards it, twirling his riding crop in one hand while the other took off his sun glasses. The officers backed up immediately, and Bucky thought he saw one do the sign of the cross as Lestrade comes over with two crowbars and hands one to Watson. The doctor took it with no pause and set to work with the inspector on prying the coffin open.

Anticipation was heavy in the air and Bucky shifted so he was standing directly behind Sherlock's shoulder which gave him a good view of the coffin when it's cover was finally thrown open. Anticipation was replaced with confusion.

Sherlock hummed.

Watson said, "Good Lord."

Bucky shared the sentiment.

"That's not Blackwood," Lestrade exclaims quietly as he looked to Sherlock, bewildered.

Bucky watched the detective's profile as the man squeezes his eyes shut for a second, mouth going tight around the edges, before blinking them back open on a sniff. "Well," he begins and takes a step towards the coffin, "now we have a firm grasp of the obvious."

 _Always with the sass,_ Bucky rolls his eyes fondly and follows Sherlock as he opens a pouch at his belt and lets it fall open, revealing several compartments of tools he couldn't begin to name. He shares a look with Watson who suddenly looked resigned but took his hat off and made a move to drop to his haunches as Sherlock asks, "Time of death?"

Sherlock joins his friend as Watson pulls out his own pouch from a pocket in his coat and pulls a thin instrument and says, "Diptera is..." he settles the ruler-type thing over the forehead of the man who was very much not Blackwood half burried under dirt and maggots, "...approximately...two thirds if an inch which would put the time of death at between ten and twelve hours ago."

At this time, Lestrade had pulled out a small notepad and pen which his licks the tip of off and start scribbling with. Before he could get far though, Sherlock tilts his head up to the inspector and asks, "May I borrow your pen?"

Lestrade hands it to him and Sherlock takes the cap off its other end before turning back to the coffin and using the pen to lift the dead man's lips open, revealing the fact that the man had missing two front teeth.

"Adler's dwarf," Watson deduced.

Sherlock leans his arm on the edge of the coffin and cups his chin as he corrects, "Midget."

Watson appeared thoughtful and Sherlock hands the pen back to Lestrade, full of dead muck and everything. Bucky can't help but smile a bit as Lestrade whips a handkerchief out from his coat pocket and wraps it around the pen as he takes it back. While he gives the pen a disgusted look Sherlock pulls his hat off and runs his fingers through his hair, revealing some whites at the roots.

Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't find it attractive. Everyone knew Tony was graying, but the man had a strict dyeing schedule so they've never had a chance to see the evidence.

When Sherlock's body suddenly gives a minute pause, Bucky had a split second to see a dull glint of a pocket watch on Reordan's torso before the detective was covering it with his hat and Bucky realized the tactic for what it is - a sleight of hand.

"I know what I saw," the scratchy voice of the grave's keeper suddenly says, and all eyes turn to him as he joins them. "It was Blackwood. As clear as I see you."

It was all the distraction Sherlock needed to swipe the watch under the guise of retrieving his hat.

The old man continues, "And when the dead walk...the living will fill these coffins."

There was a second of silence in which Watson puts his own hat back on his head, and Sherlock stands back up. "Well, um..." the detective clears his throat and adjusts his belt so his pouch was hidden behind his coat before nodding to Lestrade and starts to walk off.

"Right." Lestrade declares, his voice echoing as Watson follows Sherlock, taking his cane back from one of the officers who had taken hold of it for him earlier. "Put the lid on and clean this lot up."

"You really believe he was resurrected?" the doctor asked his companion.

Sherlock tucks his hands behind his back, griping his riding crop as he answers, "The question is not if, but how. The game's afoot."

Bucky kept a good couple of steps behind them. 

"Follow your spirit--" Watson began.

Sherlock joins. "And upon this charge, cry: God for Harry, England and St. George."

Overhead, a single solitary crow flutters into the the sky.

**X**

Steve has seen many things that should be impossible in his life. People coming back from the dead was one of them, but it was still hard to wrap his head around this one. He wonders sometimes if he'll ever get used to it.

Watching Tony as Sherlock Holmes standing in a crowded street now, Steve can tell he's not even perturbed by the notion of the undead and it's kind of sad to think that he's so used to it.

This...Tony has been in this business far longer than any of them.

"There you are," Doctor Watson says as he holds out a paper bag to Tony who lifted the pocket watch he'd stolen off Reordan's corpse and squints at it. "Why that certain fish and chips stall? I don't understand."

"Well, there's a particular beer they use in their batter. A northern stout, to be exact," Tony answers easily and reached into the bag to take out a piece before sniffing it and popping it into his mouth.

"You know, Holmes," Watson says as if in continuation to a conversation they were not privy to. "I've seen things in war I don't understand-"

"Here, here!" Sam cheers and Steve joined him in raising a fist.

"-In India I once met a man who predicted his own death, right down to the number and the placement of the bullets that killed him." The doctor's short pause was only filled with the hubbub of the street and someone playing a jaunty tune on a violin somewhere they couldn't see. "You have to admit, Homes, that a supernatural explaination to this case is _theoretically_ possible."

"Well, agreed," Tony turns to his companion as they stopped walking, "but it's a huge mistake to theorize before one has data. Inevitably, one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. That said, I believe Adler's midget is the key to this."

Tony examines the pocket watch again as they resume walking and Watson lets out a non-committal hum.

Tony holds the watch above his head. "Right. Scratches around the keyhole where the watch was wound. What does that tell you?"

"The man was likely a drunk," Watson concludes. "Everytime he wound the watch his hand would slip, hence the scratches."

"Yes. Very good, Watson," Tony praises, contemplative gaze momentarily aimed ahead of them before going back to the device in his hands. "You've developed considerable deductive powers of your own." He squints harshly at a spot on the watch. "Hm...Let's see now, there are several sets of initials scored--"

"Pawnbrokers' marks."

"Excellent. Most recent of which are M.H. M.H. M.H. is for?"

Together, the two men stop once again and look up before saying, only slightly out of sync, "Maddison and Haig," as they read it off a brick building's hanging sign.

Watson's shoulders dropped as the doctor sighs and his mouth pulls in a miniscule smile that spoke of exasperation. When he turns his head to look at Tony, the other man averted his gaze off to the opposite side away from his friend.

"I have never seen a man look so guilty," Clint snickers.

In his seat, Rhodes smiles fondly on a shake of his head. "Man, I cannot tell you the amount of times Tony pulled that shit on me. And I fell for it, every damn time."

"They should be able to give us an address," Tony finally says after a few seconds and meets Watson's eyes as he makes his way to the shop.

Watson just blinks after him, looks down to his cane and back up again only to sigh once more. "What a coincidence," he says, obviously to himself, then limps after Tony and calls out, "There's one thing you failed to deduce from the watch."

Tony walks backwards briefly as he wauited for his companion to catch up to him. "Really? I think not."

"The time," Watson soldiers on. "I have to get back, Holmes."

It was Tony's turn to give a non-committal hum.

"Taking tea with the in-laws."

"Oh," Tony breaths, as if tortured by the other man's words.

"Reckon your future, sir!" a woman suddenly shouts at them.

"Absolutely not," Tony replied as he walks straight past her.

Watson replied more amicably. "No, thank you, ma'am."

"You need to hear what I have to tell you," the woman declares as she points after Watson and steps up behind them.

"We have no need of your lucky heather, gypsy woman!" Tony calls back over his shoulder, twisting at his waist to see her.

"Even if it's to do with Mary?"

That obviously got the men's attention.

Nat narrows her eyes. "Careful, boys."

Rhodes swears. "Sonuvabitch!"

"What?" Steve asked, barely stopping himself from jumping at the man's sudden outburst.

He was expecting to see anger of the Colonel's face, but instead, his mouth was pulled back in an open-mouthed smile that was equal parts bewildered and disbelief. "Nu-uh."

Clint raised a brow. "Wanna share with the class?"

Before Rhodes could answer, Watson turns back to the woman in shock as she steps around Tony to reach him and took hold of his hand, palm up.

"Oh. Oh." She traces the lines of his palm with blackened fingers. "I see two men. Brothers. Not in blood, but in bond."

Rhodes lets out a choked laugh as Watson looks over to Tony who averted his gaze to the woman, blinking hard as if in his own shock. Steve frowned because that...that did not look real. 

"What of Mary?" Watson pushes.

"M for Mary, for marriage. Oh, you will be married."

Watson nods, completely invested and Rhodes howls in glee. "Go on."

"Oh, I see..." the woman's eyes widened, "pattered tablecloths...and, oh, china figurines..."

At this point, Tony blinks again then squints up to the sky.

"...and, oh, lace doilies!"

"Doilies," Tony repeats sagely, as if it was some sort of prophecy and Steve can suddenly see where this is going if he's to go by Rhodes continued guffaws.

"Lace...doilies?" Watson repeats as well, only his tone dripled with incredulous disbelief as he shifts and gives Tony a look before closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Holmes." He opened his eyes again as his jaw clenched. "Does you depravity know no bounds?"

"No," Tony shoots back.

The woman continues. "Oh, she turns to fat, and, oh, she has a beard and--"

"What of the warts?" Tony chimes, still looking heavenward.

"Oh, she's covered in warts!"

"Enough," Watson tells them.

Tony wasn't letting up. "Are they extensive?"

"Please, enough!"

Rhodes lists sideways in his chair, arm clutched around his stomach and a hand pounding weakly at the table.

Tony finally looks away from the sky and back to Watson with a small smile and the woman puts a pipe in her mouth. "It's the most apt prediction Flora has made in years." Flora, apparently, nods, and Tony continues, "And precisely the reason you can't find a suitable ring."

Watson just gives him a look. "Do you have my money?"

"You are terrified of a life without the thrill of the macabre," Tony says instead of answering, getting in the doctor's face.

"Do you have my cut from the fight?"

"Admit it. Admit it!"

"Give me my money! Holmes."

At was like watching someone flip a switch. One moment Tony was all fired up, the next he was subdued. Then he notices that Watson was looking over his shoulder so he followed the man's gaze and spots a sign in the pawn shop's window. "Oh, I see."

 _Large Selection of Engagement Rings for Every Wallet,_ it boasted proudly.

Watson's lips tilted up in a small smirk as Tony reached into his coat pocket, no doubt for the money. He splits it into two and hands one half to the doctor who grabs it with a dry, "Thank you," before walking off toward's e shop.

"What even..." Sam begins to say then trails off as Rhodes calms down some and wipes an actual tear from the corner of his eye.

"Man," Rhodes sighs, then finally explains, "He pulled that shit with me back in MIT when I was dating this one girl he really didn't like-- turned out she really was a bitch-- but I kid you not, that's the same woman who did it!"

Bruce tilts his head to the side with a quirked brow. "Well, that's interesting."

"Dude, is Tony trying to ruin Watson's engagement or something?" Clint asks.

Rhodes shakes his head with another fond smile. "Nah, man. He's just really protective like that. Took me a while to get used to back then, and I wouldn't change it for the world."

**X**

"Well, you've got your ring and I've got my address for the ginger midget."

Sherlock's words pulled Bucky from the tourist-like haze that had settled over his mind while he waited for the two men to finish their objectives in the pawn shop. He hadn't been able to see much of eighteen-hundreds' England when he chased after Sherlock who was chasing after Irene. However, now that they were at a much, much slower pace, it kind of crashed into him that he's in legit eighteen-hundreds England.

"Should be just there," Sherlock points ahead of them.

Watson wasn't paying attention to him and was instead focused on the boxed ring in his hand. "I think she will really like this." Sherlock simply looked at him. "And, I have some change in my pocket."

The doctor then holds up the two pieces of coins from said pocket. They pass by another pair of men just then, sitting off to the side of the busy street, rolling doces across what appeared to be a faded chess board. Bucky realizes he wasn't the only one whose eye the game had caught as he looks back to his companions.

Sherlock's words about Watson's gambling habits come to mind then as the detective turns to his friend in slight amusement. "Shall I look after it for you?"

"No, no." Watson briefly frowns his disagreement then slips the coins back into his pocket.

"Don't give it away here." Obviously, Sherlock didn't believe him.

"No." He tosses his cane up then snatches it from the air as Sherlock continued to walk. "I have to go see Mary."

Bucky frowned a bit at that as he follows Sherlock.

This whole time, Watson has been mentioning his betrothed but still had not made any real effort to leave until now.

Without breaking stride, Sherlock looks back at the doctor over his shoulder with a sniff. "Give her my best." He takes a few more steps forwards then added, "And her family, as well."

Bucky chanced his own look back at Watson as Sherlock steps up to a pair of black, double doors and found the other man give a tight smile before making his way back down the street the came from. Sherlock enetered the doors then, and Bucky was forced to break his watch on Watson. However, before he disappeared into the building, he thought he saw the man turn back, as well.

When Bucky caught up to Sherlock, he was tapping his riding crop on another door before tucking it back under his arm and opening the pouch at his belt once more. He pulled something out and crouched down so he was at eye level with the lock.

"Don't you need a warrant?" Bucky asks quietly even as he follows suit.

Sherlock simply quirks his mouth at him, amused as je fiddled with the small thing in his hand. He get a good look at it as he held it up to the lock. _A pick, of course._

Bucky only had a split second to react when Sherlock starts working on the lock and the door was suddenly kicked in. His heart was practically in his throat. "What the fuck?"

Watson strides through as if he didn't just shaved ten years off of Bucky and Sherlock's lives. Sherlock, for his part, recovered much quicker than Bucky as he simply smiled up at the man and puts his tools back away. "It does make a considerable difference to me having someone with me on whom I can _thoroughly_ rely."

Bucky sighs and stands to his feet.

"Well, you can rely on me for exactly ten minutes," Watson replied.

Bucky thinks he should go on a mission when all of this is over, hone his skills because he is obviously going soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S!!!
> 
> We are getting close to Meat and Potatoes akskfjgjalksjfkf I'm excited!!
> 
> P.S. unedited, let me know if you see any typos of grammatical errors~


End file.
